#If These 5 Unbelievable Moments Were Not

[traumaone]

Lead The Way

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, age gap (late 20s and late 40s), brief mention of human trafficking (suspected in a patient)

synopsis: after over a year of pining over Robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. Robby (after putting up with a snippy reader) comes to the rescue

masterlist

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

5:34 am

An hour on the treadmill this morning and the loudest, grittiest metal playlist you could find had done nothing to burn away the pure vitriol coursing through your veins.

Eight months of your life now wasted with one of the stupidest men on earth just so you could find him screwing a med student in your apartment. It hadn’t even been the act of catching them that had hurt the most, no, it was the fact that you hadn’t had a chance to break-up with the asshole before he’d screwed you over.

Embarrassment and rage were working double time to keep the fire burning in your chest even as you stepped through the doors of the ED. Your home, your sanctuary, now tainted by your thoughts about the fact that you’d been cheated on by a plastic surgeon.

Dana knew something had happened the moment she’d spotted you walking through the waiting room, back a day early from holiday and almost an hour before your shift, had you even been working, would’ve started.

“You look like you’re about to bring the wrath of God down on this place, kid.” Dana teased, but there glint of concern in her eyes.

“I don’t even have the words right now.” You leaned against the front of her desk, gripping the counter so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

“Let's start with why you’re back a day early from the break you desperately needed.”

That simple sentence sent another wave of wrath through your body.

“I’m well aware I needed the break, and it was fantastic until I came home last night to find my boyfriend screwing one of his med students in my bed.” You spit out the last part in a harsh whisper, careful to not let the elderly patient being wheeled by hear you.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dana’s mouth was agape.

“I save lives for a living, Dana. I’ve lost count of the number of patients I've treated.” You ranted, running your hand down your face in exasperation. “I have manually pumped a human heart with my own hand, and he pumps implants into trophy wives… and he cheated on me.”

“Woah, woah, you got cheated on?” Ellis had somehow, despite having a usually recognisable gait, snuck up on you, her brows furrowed in concern and anger.

You let your head fall against your folded arms, letting out a groan as you heard Dana chuckle. Ellis’ hand rested on the middle of your back, comforting and familiar.

“Is this that asshole you met at the conference Gloria sent you to?”

You let out another groan at the memory. Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend a conference on the modernization of emergency medicine (read: how to prioritize money over patient care). Robby, Gloria’s favourite man to torment, had been the obvious choice. He was an attending, pretty much the face of the ED at this point. And you, an ex-nightshift senior resident, not enough of a people person to be sent to a conference meant for networking, were completely powerless against the look in his unbelievably sad brown eyes when he’d complained to you about it over coffee, and offered to take his place.

It had been miserable, a weekend filled with board members who had never set foot in an ED telling you, an actual doctor, how you should be doing your job. Coping came in the form of multiple glasses of whiskey in the hotel bar, and that was when you met Preston. Overly charming, a little slimy, even, but he was there, sitting in front of you, and the man you wanted was not.

He’d wooed you, paid for your drinks, commiserated with you over how stupid this conference had been, asked to take you out to dinner when you both got back to Pittsburgh, and you’d agreed. An obvious mistake, but hindsight is always 20/20.

“The very same.” You nodded, peeking out from beneath your arms.

Ellis scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who was that guy anyway? You never talked about him.”

A fact you were very grateful for at this moment.

“He was a plastic surgeon at Presby.” You explained, wincing as the words left your mouth. “I caught him with one of his med students last night.” 

“Of course you did, he was a plastic surgeon.”

You shot Ellis a glare.

“Okay, sorry.” She relented, raising her hands in surrender. “Not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” Abbott, the newest member to your pity party, questioned, regarding the three of you with a suspicious glance.

“Not the time to keep digging into my personal life.” You recovered quickly, halting any attempts from Dana or Ellis to spill your problems. “Got a case for me?”

Abbott frowned, but pointed at the board above you. “Got a girl in central fourteen who needs pain management for endometriosis.”

“I’ll head there now.”

You pushed away from the central counter with a soft smile from Dana. Abbott tracked you across the room with his gaze, not unusual, but you knew he wasn’t going to let what he’d seen at the front desk go easily.

As predicted, once you’d set your bag down at your desk Abbott had appeared at your side, his head slightly tilted as he tried to catch your eyes.

“You okay?”

Abbott was your oldest, if not your closest, friend since you’d started at the ED. you’d done your first three years of residency with him before switching to the day shift. According to Robby, he still called you his best resident. It’s not exactly a false statement. During the massacre that had been pitfest, the two of you had fallen back into your old rhythm, moving like a well oiled machine even after a year apart.

“I’m fine. Just had a rough start to the day.” You forced a smile that in no way convinced Abbot.

“You wanna go get some air before you start?” He offered, a knowing look on his face.

Abbott had introduced you to his ‘special spot’ after you’d lost your first patient. You never crossed the railing, not like he did, but you had found there to be something humanising about watching the sun set over the city.

“I’m good, I promise.” You assured, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Just need to get in the groove.”

“If you change your mind you know where I’ll be. Sunrise is looking real nice this morning.” Abbott raised his brows at you, nodding towards the door to try and lure you away.

“Unlike you, I’m not a slacker.” You laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have a patient yet.”

“Busy!”

7:22 am

Your first hour had passed by in a blur. You made your way through a patient needing pain management, road rash after a triathlon, botched boob job (not done by your ex, unfortunately), and an incredibly cute baby with an overcautious new mom before Robby had walked through the door.

He’d shown up in his usual uniform; dark cargos, scrub top with a clean white tee underneath, and his favourite hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. A simple outfit, yet somehow the most alluring thing you’d ever seen a man wear.

He’d taken a quick glance to the board, said a good morning to Dana, and taken the long way to the stairwell, sparing a quick glance into the room of your only current patient on his way. He and Abbot had created a small morning routine, meeting each other on the roof where they could debrief in private before descending to the chaos of the ED.

You envied that kind of relationship. You and Ellis had been close when you were still on night shift. The only two female residents on shift, commiserating over your dead social lives and keeping a tally of all the drunken patients who’d hit on you. She’d made work fun for you.

Collins, Landgon, and Samira weren’t bad company, they were honestly great, but shifting your entire work crew after three years had thrown you for a loop. They were all welcoming, but three years of working together had naturally formed bonds that unintentionally kept you on the outskirts, not as much anymore, but things had been lonely at the start.

Robby, however, had taken you in immediately. You’d spent years hearing stories about him from Abbott, reading the notes he left in your charts, hearing patients talk about how handsome the doctor from the shift before had been. He’d been intimidating at first, but it had only taken you your first shift to realise the two of you got on like a house on fire. Even Gloria had made a comment on it.

“Um, excuse me?” Whitaker’s voice brought you out of your reverie.

“Whitaker, good to see you.” You greeted, tapping into your computer to edit a chart. “How’re you doing?”

“Not too bad, a little tired.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders. “How are you?”

“I’m not doing too bad. Do you need me?”

Whitaker’s cheeks flushed at your phrasing. “Oh, um yes. A patient just came in with who she says is her aunt, but their dynamic’s a little… off.”

“Aunt’s answering questions for her? Patient checks in with the aunt before answering anything on her own? Both insist on not being separated?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

You nodded. “And just to double check, the patient is above eighteen?”

“Yes, she’s twenty-six.”

That made you turn your head. “Okay, could just be a strange dynamic, but let's flag Kiara and I’ll come check it out.”

Whitaker led you to the patient, taking you straight past the stairwell Robby and Abbott had just emerged from.

Robby caught you by your shoulder, guiding you back so he could see your face. “You got a minute?”

You shook your head, pulling away from his touch. “Whitaker needs me for a possible case of trafficking. I’ll come find you after?”

His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t figure out, but he nodded.

“Sure.”

8:07 am

“Hey, you still need me?”

Robby sat reclined at your desk, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he read over a chart.

“How’d things turn out with Whitaker’s patient?” He asked, peering at you over the rims of his glasses. 

God, you loved it when he did that, but your moment of enjoyment cut itself short for professionalism.

“It was a good catch on his part. We put the girl in a private room under the guise of a pelvic exam and Kiara is with her now.”

“Nicely done. Keep me updated when you learn any new information.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Did you need me for anything else, or…”

“Abbott mentioned that you seemed a little bit off this morning. Came in a day early, at five in the morning no less.”

“Rat.” You muttered under your breath. You should’ve known that Jack would say something. “I’m fine, just caught a case of cabin fever. ‘M not used to having so much time off, just needed to get into the groove of things again.”

Robby nodded, but you could tell immediately that he hadn’t fallen for the lie.

“Okay, just remember I’m around if you need me.”

“Of course.”

11:48 am

Robby should’ve been focusing on his patients, focusing on the med students he had been tasked with teaching, but each time you crossed his path he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire you.

He could still remember the first shift he’d ever worked with you.

You were Abbot’s best resident, the nurse's favourite doctor (donuts and coffee every Sunday had secured you that position.), and despite being an R3, the two of you had never crossed paths.

Sure, he’d seen glimpses of you from across the ER, read the sticky notes you left scattered around your desk, had a million and one patients ask for the ‘charismatic, young doctor’ from the night before.

After almost three years of unsatiated curiosity, Robby had made peace with the fact that you’d become nothing more than an urban legend in his life. That was until a year ago when Abbott had needed him to cover a night shift, something to do with the wedding of an old friend he’d served with.

You’d greeted him with a smile and a fresh cup of coffee, shook his hand, and told him Abbot talked about him so much you felt like you already knew him. Robby had repeated the sentiment and tried to match your smile, but he was slightly too aware of just how soft your hand felt against his.

It had taken him less than an hour to realise why Abbot liked you so much. You were incredible at your job, even better with the patients, and the moment an urgent trauma had crossed the doors of the ambulance bay, you transformed. Warmth had quickly been traded for brutal efficiency. Your every move was clean, smooth, practiced to perfection.

Robby had been hooked on you by the end of the shift.

He hadn’t made a move on you. Even after only an hour he’d known you were miles out of his league, not to mention that the gap in age hadn’t been anything to blink at. He’d been sure you’d have no interest.

He’d clearly been wrong.

The shift had ended without incident, only a few immediate cases had come through the ambulance bay, but other than that it had been the victims of drunken brawls, sick kids, and elderly people falling in the dark.

You’d stopped him outside, laid a hand on his arm, offered him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen and told him how much you’d loved having him on this shift, and made him promise to say hello when your shifts crossed paths. It hadn’t been a declaration of love, but it had opened a new door.

He’d spent the next few weeks clocking in just a few minutes earlier, catching you just as you crossed the threshold back into the outside world. Robby would flirt (in his own way), and you’d flirt back. It had been a good start to his mornings, made him feel a bit younger, put a new pep in his step.

After a particularly long day, he’d found himself up on the roof with Abbott, staring out at the city looking for a reason to keep going, and Jack, as if he’d read his mind, had dropped the bomb that you were switching to the day shift. He hadn’t specified why, had just accused Robby of stealing his best resident. That simple sentence had kept him fueled for the next week.

The true nail in his coffin had been almost a year ago. You’d fallen on the sword for him, taken his spot at yet another ridiculous conference Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend. That had been the moment he knew he was falling in love with you. And he fell fast.

He’d spent the entire week you were gone thinking about you, planning the best way to ask you out for dinner without forcing you into a corner if he’d read the signals wrong. And then you came back, exasperated by the amount of ridiculousness you’d put up with over the last week, as happy to see him as he’d hoped, but with a dinner date for a week ahead locked in your calendar.

You were incredible, he couldn’t blame another man for noticing, he’d just wished he’d noticed sooner.

Robby had spent the next eight months watching parts of you slowly fade away. Your smile lost its usual sparkle, your hair didn’t shine under the fluorescent lights the same way it used to. He had asked you about it, pressed you for details on more than one occasion to no avail. You always seemed to be carrying a weight on your shoulders, until this morning.

Even without Abbott’s words bouncing in his head, he could tell something in you had changed. Your eyes looked tired, shadowed by bags under your eyes, but that weight he’d noticed had finally seemed to leave your shoulders. Even with your exhaustion (and snappy attitude), you seemed lighter, happier than he’d seen you in months.

He knew he’d get the information out of you eventually, but for the time being he was just glad to see your true smile again.

7:21 pm

One death, four close calls, and one too many idiot patients later, You found yourself on the cool bench across from the hospital, beer in hand as you laughed with your coworkers. Robby sat next to you, as usual, a serene look on his face as he watched Perlah and Princess argue semantics about an old patient.

As the calm night washed over you, the guilt of snapping at Robby finally settled in your stomach. It hadn’t been fair of you, it wasn’t his fault your ex had turned out to be a piece of shit. A cruel part of you had still blamed him though, thinking that if he’d acted on the feelings you hoped he had for you, you wouldn’t have had to put up with subpar treatment for eight months.

One by one your coworkers headed home, wishing you a good rest of your night and promising to see you again in the morning. Before you knew it, only you and Robby were left in the comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you today.” You spoke softly, picking at the tab of your beer can. “I took out my anger on you and it wasn’t fair.”

“Thank you.” Robby nodded. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you remember that guy I’ve been seeing?”

Robby nodded again, a small frown furrowing between his brows.

“I found him in bed with one of his med students last night.”

Robby let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking slightly as he looked down at his shoes. “That is…”

“Yeah.” You almost laughed. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what he would’ve said.

A moment passed before he spoke again. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You let the laugh escape you this time. “He was an absolute asshole.”

Robby laughed with you. “I didn’t know much about the guy, but what I did know, I didn’t like.”

That shot a strange feeling up your spine.

“Wanna know the worst bit?” You asked, pushing down the feeling.

“Of course.”

“I was more upset about the fact that I didn’t get to break up with him first than I actually was about the cheating.”

He laughed, a true deep laugh, the kind you heard rarely but loved.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” Robby lectured, resting a hand on your knee where it almost brushed his. “As cliche as it sounds, it’s worth waiting for someone who you know will treat you right.”

“Someone like you?” You questioned, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

Robby paused, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips for a split second. “I’m not sure I’m the man you want.”

“I know you are, Robby.”

His calloused hand moved to rest against your face, his thumb tracing over the ridge of your cheek. In the subtle glow of the park lights you could perfectly see his features, those gentle brown eyes you could never seem to forget. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his in a quiet invitation.

The feeling of his lips against yours had been more perfect than you’d imagined. They were slightly chapped, warm, and just right. His beard scratched against your cheeks in a way that made your thighs ache.

He pulled away after one kiss, ever the gentlemen, and rested his forehead against yours.

“Let me take you back to my place.” He begged, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek. “I’ll wash your clothes, walk you back to work in the morning.”

You struggled to bite back the smile on your lips. “Lead the way.”

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; prologue

wc ; 1572 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; death, neglect, brief mention of drugs, curse words

prologue, one, tbc..

Your death was completely preventable.

As you lay on the concrete floor of the cold alleyway, you can’t help but feel a sense of peace. Yeah, sure, you were shot 5 times and you’re currently bleeding out in some piss-smelling drug-ridden pavement. At least you’ve died in a somewhat honorable way, people will have a tell to tale, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be remembered for a while.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, maybe the lack of blood is making you delirious. There’s no way you’ll be remembered as anything but the child that haunts the manor, that stalks around, staring at the residents of the Wayne manor with hopeful eyes. A child who doesn’t belong, who’s body isn’t able to fill in the cracks in the family, a child who wasn’t able to give anything, to devout anything.

A child of 21, but a child nonetheless. 

The way you got caught up in the shooting was so unbelievably stupid, you were too nice to refuse taking on an extra shift from your co-worker, working overtime for free because you didn’t know how to say no. You got caught up in a fight between goons on your way home. For a brief moment, that small child you had buried foolishly believed your father would swoop down and protect you.

Then you were shot, again and again and again.

You don’t want to die, you decide at the last minute. You want to go back in time, to tell your poor 16-year-old self that yearning for the love of a family who doesn’t have love to give is foolish. A foolish child dying a foolish death.

And then, your eyes shut for the last time, you can almost hear your mother’s low humming, the smell of the dingy, old apartment you used to live in with her, you can taste the cold food she worked to provide (you can feel her hands on your neck, can hear her apologies ringing over and over as she cries).

It’s peaceful, almost nice.

Until you wake up �� and your first thought is; what the fuck?

Your hand instinctively moves to your lower abdomen where you were shot – you were shot! You remember the burning pain shooting through you, so why on earth are you unharmed and.. in your bedroom?

It’s strange, why are your old posters up? Trinkets you distinctly remember throwing out, clothes you don’t wear thrown about – and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes catch a reflection in the mirror, your reflection. Your reflection that isn’t yours, why is

your hair shorter? Why are you so small– why are you.. Sixteen?

“What the fuck?” You hiss, jumping out of bed – wobbling as you whip your head around, taking in every nook and cranny of the small room. “What the fuck?!” 

You jump towards the mirror, leaning in as you slap, pinch and stretch your face, awed by the youthful appearance, you had forgotten how cute you looked. No, that seems like the wrong word, you looked sixteen. Just an average sixteen year old, healthy and alive (somehow).

A few moments ago you were lying in a pool of your blood in a run-down alley, an unloved 21 year old – now you’re sixteen again, and you have a chance to change the inevitable! If you ignore the pit of dread in your stomach. Sixteen had been the worst year of your life, full of anger and hormones and teenage drama. Sixteen had been the year you struggled the most.

On the bright side, at least you had a trial run..?

“Young Master (Name)” A british, familiar voice calls out and you tense, whipping your head around to see Alfred. It had almost slipped your mind, Alfred is alive. He’s standing before you, as straight and proper as always, smiling at you as if nothing had changed. As if you hadn’t sobbed at his funeral, as if you hadn’t cursed your family for dragging him into their mess, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights at his grave, as if–

“Are you.. alright?” He asks, taking in the flabbergasted expression on your face – to which you straighten up, nodding with a shaken exhale as you ignore the churning of your stomach. You felt nauseous, everything felt too real in an uncomfortable way. A very uncomfortable way – the mix of emotions threatening to consume you.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast, I was beginning to grow worried.” He explains, taking in the way you nod blankly once more, his brows furrowing. “Is– everything alright”

“Y– yes, I’m just not hungry, I’ll– have something later.” You can’t keep your voice from trembling, you’re five seconds away from breaking down and sobbing before him, but you don’t want to worry him. You need to figure out a game plan, you’ve no time for stupid pleasantries like food, plus even if you tried to eat you’d probably throw up then break down sobbing.

“Alright, Young Master. But please, eat something before noon.” Alfred sighs, clearly worried by your peculiar behaviour, his eyes lingering for a moment too long before he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click. Oh fuck, how are you supposed to interact with anyone in this family if a two minute interaction is enough to have you trembling? Whatever, it matters not! You fumble around with your face for another moment before letting out a long sigh, your head already aching from the bewilderment of the situation. You shuffle over to your bed, plopping down with another huff. You had no idea what to do, no plan to go forward, but you had to figure something out. 

You couldn’t stay in the Manor, you couldn’t deal with the dismissive eyes, the fake words of reassurance. You couldn’t stand curling up in your room, listening to the distant sounds of laughter as everyone celebrated without you. You couldn’t stand being that child again.

“I need to leave.” You say with more firmness than you had intended, your eyes set on the mirror before you. Of a sixteen-year-old (Name), staring back at you with pitiful eyes, you’ll get them out, you’ll give them a future – you’ll give yourself a future.

“Okay. Now, where do I begin?” You mumble, staring up at your ceiling before reaching for your phone. Time to go house hunting at sixteen. Yipee.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Alfred was picking up your plate with a thoughtful expression, breakfast had always been your favourite time of day because it always gave you a chance to see your family. No matter how you felt, or how busy you were. How peculiar.

It’s unusual for you to so blatantly skip it, there’s also that whole thing with your demeanour. Something in you had shifted, and he didn’t like it – it felt as though you were slipping away, as though you had resigned, as though you had stepped back, content in living as a shadow lurking in the dark corners of the Manor.

That simply won’t do. 

He won’t give up on that smiling child, looking up at him with their front tooth missing, dirt staining their clothes as they ramble on about how they found a top secret hide-out, how they can’t wait to tell your big brothers their adventures. 

Well, he’s sure with a few clever strings pulled he can finally put you on centre stage, with the lights shining on you. He just needs to remember to reserve a front row seat, for himself, of course.

“What the fuck?” You grumble, repeating that sentence for the nth time as you angrily type on your phone – why is every apartment in this city and the city over so bummy? It’s either too expensive or overridden with rats or overtaken by gangs.

You never moved houses in your past (?) life, staying in the Wayne Manor was easy once you accepted the inevitability of chasing after a fruitless relationship. Plus, the housing in Gotham and Bludhaven has always been..

Well, it could be better!

“(Name).” Your heart jumps out of your chest as an strangely familiar voice calls out for you, dark, low, paternal. Who on earth?

Your heart sinks as your eyes shift to the figure at your door. Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father, is in your room? What the fuck? This had never happened in your life, certainly not at sixteen. You can recall every single time you’ve ever seen your family, so why? Your hand curls around your phone as you gape up at your father. This isn’t supposed to happen. The one thing grounding you through this crazy, disconnecting experience was the comfort that you were familiar with your future, that you had a grasp on what events are bound to go down.

You’ve been awake for about twenty minutes – how’s it already changed?! Inside you, a deep part of your soul shifts, the air in the room suddenly being sucked in by his overwhelming presence, his eyes – cold and calculating, sizing you up as if you were a specimen, as though you were a pretty piece of silver at an auction and not his flesh and blood, your breathing become uneven as you try to grasp at your memory, anything that might've slipped your mind regarding interactions with your father.

You draw a blank, this has never happened. It's not supposed to happen – what the fuck?!

“Let’s go for a walk.”

yall i feel like this sucks i havent written in like two years im so rusty omg im so embarresed ill die bye

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[lily-jaxk]

MC Twin AU - SYLUS'S Darling

You couldn't believe it, but you had been kidnapped.

You weren't even scared. Okay, that was a lie. You were terrified, but you were also really annoyed.

And flattered.

Well, being kidnapped means you must mean a lot to someone, right? So much that your kidnapper would think to make that person panic, they would kidnap you. How sweet!

But still so annoying. Why you?! What could your kidnapper possibly gain from kidnapping you?

You weren't rich, nor did you have a rich friend or partner. Information? Sure, you knew this world was a video game, but that didn't mean you knew everything.

You pause your thoughts as your kidnapper removes the blindfold they had placed around your eyes. You blink, then deadpan. "You have got to be kidding me."

You couldn't believe it. Of all the people to have kidnapped you, it had to be the twins!?

Meaning, it had to be the boss of Onychinus!??

You stare at the twins in masks before you, then let out a long sigh. Now that you knew who had kidnapped you, you just couldn't find it within yourself to be scared at all. "Quick question." You begin, shifting in your chair and cocking your head to the side. "Did you mean to kidnap me, or did you mean to kidnap MC?"

The twins look at each other. " . . . . Are you not MC?" one of them, who you assume is Luke, asked, and a loud groan leaves you. "God. Damm it!"

Sometimes, you really hated the fact that you and the MC were identical twins, because sometimes you ended up in shitty situations like these!

Unbelievable! Truly unbelievable!

"Hey, are you not MC?"

"But she looks just likes her . . . . does that mean MC has a twin or something?"

"Why wouldn't the Boss Man tell us then?"

"Idiot, what if MC didn't tell Boss Man that she had a twin? So how would he know?"

"But why wouldn't she tell him about her twin?"

"Why would she tell him about her twin?"

"But why wouldn't she?"

"But why would she?"

What were you witnessing? Did they act like this in game? What the fuck was going on?

You couldn't help but watch with morbid fascination as the twins continued to argue back and forth with each other. Did all twins do this? Did you and MC do this? You probably did, but is this what it was like to experience it?

The three of you freeze as the door opens, and you watch a very familiar, very attractive man walk in. Deep red eyes, beautiful white hair, it was Sylus in the flesh, alright.

Ok [Name], breathe in, and breathe out. Sure, the man who made you actually focus on the game is before you. Sure, the man whose myth you sobbed over is breathing the same air as you. And sure, the man you wasted hours upon hours grinding to get all his cards is now walking towards you, but that didn't matter.

All that mattered was getting out of this place alive.

Because you weren't MC, who had half of his heart. You were [Name]. a simp who could probably die if you weren't careful. And quite frankly, even dying can be expensive.

Damm this shitty economy. You couldn't wait for Philos.

You shift in your chair as Sylus stops in front of you, his red gaze pinning you down. ". . . You're not MC," he murmurs, a smile forming on his lips.

You blink. "Holy shit you can tell."

"Wait, so MC actually has a twin?"

"Huh, so we aren't the only twins here anymore!"

"How cool is that?"

A dark chuckle leaves Sylus's lips, and he leans down to grasp your chin, bringing your face closer to his. "You look like her," he continues, his thumb rubbing your chin, "But there's a tiny little mole underneath your eye. Right . . . . there."

You could only stare up at Sylus with slightly wide eyes, trying to shove down the simping part of you. No! This was a serious moment! Down girl! Down! "What . . . . what are you - wait, who even are you!?"

He merely laughs. "Hello, darling. I'm glad to see you again."

You pause. What? What did he mean by that?

See you again?? Had the two of you met before?? The fuck??

Prologue | Caleb | Zayne | Xaiver | Rafayel | Sylus |

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Sylus | 18+

I was supposed to post the final part of the Caleb part, and Rafayel Part 2, but um...here ya go!

[cressidagrey]

I would marry you with paper rings

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary: 

May 2016

How Max Verstappen wins his first f1 race and goes home to show his girlfriend his trophy…and maybe something else too...

December 2024: 

Max brings his family home from the hospital and finally gets to give his fiancée a proper ring. 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this!

May 2016: 

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Max Verstappen barely noticed. His ears were ringing, his chest felt tight, and his grip on the steering wheel had turned his knuckles white. He barely registered the voice of his race engineer crackling through his headset.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Max.” 

The words didn’t feel real. 

“You are a race winner!”

It felt like they belonged to someone else’s story, someone older, more experienced—someone who wasn’t an 18-year-old kid still trying to figure out the enormity of it all. He blinked hard, trying to process the magnitude of what just happened.

The pit wall erupted in cheers as he drove toward the podium, his hands trembling on the wheel. It wasn’t just any win—it was the win. At 18 years and 227 days old, Max Verstappen had become the youngest race winner in Formula 1 history.

He had done it. 

As the team crowded around him in parc fermé, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Christian Horner was there to hug him, Helmut Marko clapped him on the back, and Daniel Ricciardo tousled his sweat-soaked hair. The cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every angle of his historic moment.

And still…the most important person was not there. 

Colette was back in Monaco. 

Hours later, once he finally got to his phone…after he was back in his hotel room, there was a message from her waiting for him. Of course, there was. 

I am so proud of you, Maxie. Soak up every moment, enjoy it. You deserve this, so, so much. We’ll celebrate when you are back home, mon coeur. You were amazing out there today and I love you so much. 

Somehow these 5 sentences meant more to him than any other accolade ever could. 

He stared at the trophy perched on his nightstand. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—was overwhelming.

He’d spent years working for this moment. His entire life had been shaped around the pursuit of success, of proving he belonged on the top step of the podium. But now that he’d done it? He would give anything to share this moment with the girl he loved. 

Colette had been his constant long before Formula 1 entered the picture. She’d seen him at his worst, supported him when no one else believed in him, and always reminded him of who he was outside the car. 

She was his staunchest supporter and the first person that woul dcall hi out for being an idiot. 

She grounded him, cosetted him, cared for him, cheered for every win and held him after every failure. 

She was the one thing in his life that he could trust unconditionally…that loved him for who he was and not what he could do. 

Of course he had driven this car to victory. And Colettte would never take credit for any of his wins…but Max knew the truth. 

This win wasn’t just his—it was theirs.

The idea hit him in the early hours of the morning, somewhere between the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

He needed to show her how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her to be part of this journey—not just as a girlfriend, but as his partner in everything that came next.

But how do you capture something so big?

By 7 a.m., Max was wandering the quiet streets of Barcelona. The city felt different in the early morning light—calm, peaceful. He had no real plan, just an address for a small jewellery store he’d googled hours before.

His Spanish wasn’t great, but he figured he could manage. He needed something. Something to show her just how much she meant to him.

He had bought his sister a handbag the first time he had scored points in F1…but handbag didn’t even come close to being enough for Colette. 

So there he was…in that jewelery store. 

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and a man behind the counter greeted him warmly, raising an eyebrow at the young man who looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You’re here for something important, aren’t you?” the man asked knowingly, his accent thick but his tone kind.

Max hesitated, glancing down at the glass cases filled with glittering jewellery. He’d never done anything like this before. He had never even bought Colette a pair of earrings on his own. He had bought her other stuff, of course he had. Birthday gifts and stuff for christmas but… “Yeah, uh... I need something… special. For my girlfriend.”

The man smiled knowingly and pulled out a tray of rings. “Something like this?” he asked, gesturing to a selection of delicate designs.

Max’s eyes landed on a gold band with a small, heart-shaped diamond. It wasn’t flashy or oversized—it was understated, elegant, and perfect.

Just like Colette. 

***

Hours later… Max was back in Monaco. 

The trophy tucked under his arm, bag thrown over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to their apartment. 

He wasn’t sure if Colette was already home from work…he hadn’t called ahead telling her either. 

“Max?” and there she was, already dressed in her pyjamas as she stared at him wide-eyed, coming out of the kitchen. 

“I won,” he blurted, grinning like a kid showing off a school project. 

THat was all he needed to say, before she was throwing herself in his arms. His bag hit the floor, as he hugged her and she kissed him, cupping his cheek, rapid fire french that he would never learn to understand as quickly as she spoke it, intermixed with english and her horribly accented dutch. 

And for just a moment Max got to hold his girlfriend…the best trophy he had ever won. 

“I am so proud of you, mon coeur,” Colette whispered and he leaned his forehead against hers, her words a balm to something that he didn’t even know. 

“I brought you something.”

Before she could say anything, he plopped the Pirelli cap on her head, by now dry, though it had been drenched in champagne by Kimi and Seb and he adjusted it until it sat crookedly over her brown curls. “There. Perfect,” he said, his voice raw. 

Perfect. 

Colette laughed, patting it down, and then pulled him into another kiss. “I am so proud. You were incredible this weekend,” she told him fiercely. “Shouldn’t you still be celebrating?” she teased him. 

“I am,” he said, his voice softening. “With you.”

Any celebration with her was better than any other. 

“You want to see the trophy?” he asked her, feeling like a little boy that dragged his karting trophy to Colette for her approval again. 

And just like she had suffered through every time of 12 year old Max showing his trophy off to her…18 year old Max did the same, handing it to her. 

She took it, a metal on metal clink rattling around the inside. 

“What’s...?” she started, tilting the trophy to look inside. Her breath caught, as she fished out the ring from the bottom of it. “Max...”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he rushed to explain, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean, our fathers would probably kill us both if we got married right now. But it’s... it’s a promise.”

Colette carefully set the trophy down, her hands trembling as stared at the delicate gold ring in the palm of her hand. 

“I wanted you to know that it’s always going to be us,” Max said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “Through everything. You and me. This is my promise to you.”

It was always going to be them. Always. 

“I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to tell me what I already know,” Max said softly. “I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. In Sickness and In Health and however that whole thing goes.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, her lips trembling with a smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” 

Colette just looked at him, brown eyes warm and loving…and filled with tears. 

“I do. God, I do,” she promised him fiercely. “Go on then. Put it on me,” she teased him. 

His fingers were trembling when he picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. A perfect fit. Like he had somehow known. 

“This is going to be hard to top one day, you know,” Colette told him, wiggling her fingers, the diamond sparkling on her hand. “You do have exceptional taste in rings.”

Max chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Challenge accepted.”

December 2024: 

The late December air was crisp as Max carefully carried the baby carrier through the front door of their apartment, his movements uncharacteristically slow. He was used to the precision of controlling a 200-mile-per-hour machine, but carrying his newborn daughter… was an entirely different level of responsibility.

Colette watched the whole thing with some amusement and a whole lot of love. Max had already driven so slowly home from the hospital that there had been multiple blaring car horns behind them, but Max hadn’t cared one bit about that. 

She was tired, her body aching from the delivery, but her heart was so full it threatened to burst.

“Welcome home, ma lutine,” she murmured softly, brushing her fingers over the baby’s tiny hand, as Max set the carrier down on the living room floor. 

Max crouched to unbuckle their daughter, who was snoozing peacefully despite the excitement of the day. “I think she’s already a Verstappen,” he said with a chuckle, glancing up at Colette. “Sleeps through the chaos, just like her dad.”

Colette laughed lightly, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” she teased him. “You gonna get the cats?” she asked.

Max nodded, moving towards the bedroom where he had put them just minutes before. 

Colette heard the door open and seconds later, she could feel two sets of feline eyes were already watching from the bedroom doorway —Jimmy, usually, the more laid back boy…and Sassy, the fierce girl with a name that fit her personality far too well.

“Okay, guys,” Colette murmured. “Be nice. She’s your baby sister now.”

Max crossed back over to them, crouching down beside the seat, unbuckling Charlie with ease, his movements careful and deliberate. “You think they’ll be jealous?” he asked, casting a quick glance at Jimmy and Sassy, who hadn’t moved but were clearly observing every detail.

“They’ll get over it,” Colette said with a soft laugh. “I think Sassy’s already plotting her strategy.”

Sure enough, as soon as Colette lifted Charlie into her arms, Sassy bounded down the stairs, tail high and ears forward. She paused a few feet away, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. 

“Hi, Sassy,” Colette cooed, kneeling down to let the curious cat get a closer look. Sassy tiptoed forward, her tiny paws making no sound on the marble floor. She stopped just short of Colette’s knees and craned her neck, sniffing cautiously at the bundle in her arms.

Charlie let out a soft coo, her tiny fist waving in the air, and Sassy’s ears twitched forward in fascination. Then, in a move that made Colette’s heart melt, Sassy stretched up on her hind legs and gently tapped at the edge of the baby blanket, as if to say, What’s this?

“See? She’s already making friends,” Colette said, grinning as she stroked Sassy’s head.

Max, meanwhile, was coaxing Jimmy towards them. The cat was watching the scene with a skeptical look, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Come on, mate,” Max said, holding out his hand. “She’s not going to steal your spot. I promise.”

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before coming the last few steps. Unlike Sassy, who had no sense of personal space, Jimmy kept his distance at first, circling wide around Colette and Charlie as if evaluating whether this tiny human posed a threat to his kingdom.

“Jimmy, it’s okay,” Colette encouraged, holding out her hand toward him. “Come say hi.”

Eventually, Jimmy padded closer, his movements slow and deliberate. When he finally reached Colette, he sat down primly and stared up at Charlie, his expression one of cautious curiosity.

“She’s not so bad, right?” Max said, crouching down beside Jimmy and scratching behind his ears.

Charlie let out another soft noise, and Jimmy’s head tilted slightly, his ears swiveling to catch the sound. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he leaned forward and gave the edge of the baby blanket a tentative sniff, followed by a single, gentle nudge of his nose.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Colette said, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re such a good boy.”

Max laughed, the sound warm and full of love. “I think they’ve decided she can stay,” he said, wrapping an arm around Colette’s shoulders.

Later that evening, after Charlie had been fed and settled into the bassinet they’d placed in the living room, Colette found herself staring at the collection of trophies they kept on the shelves over the TV. Max’s career was neatly cataloged there— All the important wins, each moment of triumph immortalized in gleaming metal and glass.

Charlie stirred softly in her arms, and Colette pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead before stepping closer to the shelves. “Do you see all these trophies, Charlie?” she whispered, swaying gently. “See? these are all Papa‘s,“ Colette cooed. “He has more. These are just the ones that are the most important to him. Your tonton Cha has some too…”

Her eyes slid over the championship trophy from last year…over to the very first one. It was a little scuffed from being handled so many times, but it still gleamed in the soft light of the room. “And this one…this one is extra special. This is from when Papa won his very first race. And do you know what else?” She smiled, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “This is where he hid a ring for me eight years ago.”

She glanced back at her daughter, but Charlie had already drifted back into her newborn sleep, oblivious to her mother’s musings. 

“You didn’t check, did you?” Max’s voice broke the quiet, startling her.

She turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face. He was still wearing the same hoodie and sweats he’d changed into after coming home from the hospital, but somehow, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Check what?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“The trophy,” he said, nodding toward the one in her hand. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing it ever since we came home.”

Colette raised an eyebrow. “You tell a girl you hid her engagement ring in there, what did you expect, Verstappen,” she teased him. 

“You are right,” Max agreed seriously, with a nod, plucking Charlie from her arms to put her in the Moses Basket they had put next to the couch.

And then he plucked that trophy from the shelve, only to upend it until a velvet box came tumbling down. 

Colette’s breath caught as he flipped it open to reveal a stunning ring—a delicate gold band, not unlike the one he’d given her all those years ago, but this time, the diamond was much larger, more brilliant. It sparkled in the light, catching every angle perfectly.

Her free hand flew to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. “Max…”

“Shush. Let me do this right,” he teased her, as he got down on one knee. “I had this for months,” he told her. “I thought about giving it to you after the Monaco Grand Prix, then after the championship celebration, but none of those moments felt right. This—bringing Charlie home—this feels right.”

Colette could only nod, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“I know we’ve been doing things our own way,” he said with a small smile. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing. But this... this is my way of saying I’m all in, for the rest of my life. With you. With Charlie. With everything that comes next.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she finally found her voice. “You didn’t have to do this. You already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

“And now I’m giving you a little bit more,” he said seriously. “So. Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc, will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Max reached for her left hand, his fingers brushing over hers as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just as she knew it would.

“You even got the order of my names right,” she teased him, as he stood up and he snorted as he pulled her into a hug. 

“Hush,” he gave back, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the trophy forgotten on the shelf and the ring gleaming on her finger.

In the bassinet, Charlie let out a tiny squeak, and they both turned to look at her, their smiles growing.

“She approves,” Colette said with a laugh.

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course she does. She’s a Verstappen.”

As they sat down together, Colette resting her head against Max’s shoulder, they couldn’t help but marvel at the life they’d built. 

It had been a long journey to get here, but every step had been worth it.

[godjustkys]

| mdni 18+

| SUPERNATURAL headcanons

please give requests.

-----------------------------

RATED: NSFW

-----------------------------

STATUS: You're already in a relationship.

-----------------------------

Request: none, I wrote it myself on February 23rd.

-----------------------------

Dean:

1 - He might not admit it, but god does he love being bent over;

2 - He is SO FUCKING LOUD. When he's on top, he mostly groans, occasionally moans, but when he's on bottom,, the whimpers, whines and moans that escape his mouth is unbelievable;

3 - Praise him and he's on his knees for you;

4 - If you EVER put on a cowboy costume and you have the cowboy boots on... he's hot and bothered the moment he lays his eyes on you;

5 - LOVES pulling on your hair during intercourse;

6 - If the two of you are having sex and he's overwhelmed, he'll grab a pillow to hold onto or grip the sheets;

7 - You two have fucked in the back of Baby.. per Dean's request.. (surprisingly.);

8 - Once, in the heat of the moment, you started facefucking Dean while he was giving you a blowjob and ever since that happened, it's been his favourite thing about sex;

9 - You manhandling him is his guilty pleasure;

10 - At the start of the relationship, Dean believed that it would kind of be a switch-switch situation during sex. When you fucked for the first time, Dean was riding you and his legs started shaking. At that moment, he was thinking about getting off of you, but when you grabbed his hips and made him ride you up until the end, he gave up on that thought.

-----------------------------

Sam:

1 - He is not loud at all. Sure, a couple moans here and there but it's mostly just heavy breathing or grunts. Unless he's overstimulated;

2 - Whenever he's horny, he won't make it clear to you. He just gets all grumpy and grouchy;

3 - Unlike Dean, when he's overwhelmed, he'll hold onto you. And he'll scratch the living hell out of your back;

4 - If you mess with his hair during sex, so much as pull on it, he will moan;

5 - Once, when Sam got back from a hunt with an unconscious Dean, you scolded him and he got hard. (involuntarily);

6 - Sam insisted on trying mirror sex - lo and behold, he had his face buried in the sheets for the majority of it (when you didn't hold his head up). Why? He was embarrassed;

7 - During a hunt, Sam got really grumpy. You had to do something about it because Dean's taunting demeanour would set him off immediately, so you just dragged Sam into the bathroom, when Dean was out, for a quickie. It worked wonders;

8 - You had a habit of not caring about shortness of breath when kissing, so when you first made out with Sam, he thought he was gonna pass out. (He was overreacting, he was nowhere close to passing out);

9 - He LOVES it when you're bold and straightforward, it turns him on so much;

10 - His whole body starts shaking due to pleasure if you focus on his chest and neck too much.

-----------------------------

Castiel:

1 - If he's in the mood for it, he won't tell you. He will just stare at you until you figure it out yourself;

2 - If there is a moment when Castiel doesn't put his hands on your chest or stare at it, consider it a miracle;

3 - He cannot comprehend why he can't form coherent sentences during intercourse. He says "it must be some kind of curse". In reality, he's just too into it to care enough about speaking properly, but he does not realize it;

4 - Castiel does not realize how much you being rough with him turns him on. Degrade him for a couple seconds and he's hard;

5 - During sex, he holds onto you so tightly with his hands that a lot of the time, they leave bruises. Once, he noticed them and asked what happened. When you told him that they were from him, he just looked at you confused and said: "I never hit you?";

6 - Even though you being rough riles him up a lot, he prefers soft and gentle sex.

7 - When the four of you, you, Sam, Dean and Castiel were riding in Baby (you and Cas in the back seat), you decided to just lay your head in Castiel's lap and get comfortable. He was your boyfriend after all. It was fine at first, you even closed your eyes. Then suddenly, Castiel pushed you off. You sat up looking at him puzzled. He just gave you glare as he looked out of the window and covered his crotch. (Inconvenient places to get hard #2);

8 - He knows how mad it drives you when he gives you that soft innocent look during sex, it just makes you want to go rougher on him;

9 - He once asked you to 'rail him' without knowing what it meant. When you explained it to him, he replied with "oh, okay. So will you?";

10 - He finds your hands (minus your chest) the most attractive thing in the world. He WILL stare at your hands during intercourse because he wants them on him 24/7.

-----------------------------

A/n: if you want any of these headcanons to be made into a oneshot, please let me know. <3

[rafecameronssl4t]

Tennis || Tennis Player!Rafe Cameron x oc!reader

Summary: the beginning of my tennis player x oc!reader au maybe??

Warnings: none

Word count: 836

A/n: as a tennis girly, this will be fun to write ;) face claim for this oc is Paige Lorenze just bc she is my absolute favourite and her vlogs bring me sm comfort 🥹

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

mood board

It came as no surprise to anyone in the Outer Banks that Rafe Cameron had made it big in the tennis world. Even though everyone expected him to follow the usual kook path and play golf, Rafe decided to give tennis a shot, and it turned out he was a natural. From the moment he picked up a racket, it was clear he had a natural talent for the sport.

In no time, he racked up five Grand Slam titles and climbed to 4th in the world rankings. Growing up in an environment where he was groomed to play golf from the time he could walk, his switch to tennis had caught everyone off guard.

His rapid rise to the top shocked the tennis community, especially those who had dedicated their entire lives to mastering the sport, only to be surpassed by someone who had recently taken it up. It was almost laughable, but here you were, watching from the VIP box as Rafe stood just one point away from securing another Grand Slam at Wimbledon.

“Quite a talented young man he is,” your dad remarked, his eyes fixed on the big screen with a small smile playing on his lips. You turned to look at him, noticing the rare glint of admiration in his gaze. The entire stadium was patiently waiting for their break to be over.

Your dad, Steve Owen, was an ex-tennis player, a legend in his prime who had dominated the courts with unmatched skill. Compliments from him were few and far between, reserved only for those who truly earned his respect. Watching him now, you could tell he was genuinely impressed by Rafe’s talent.

“You feeling alright, Dad?” you teased, feigning concern as you leaned over and playfully pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He chuckled softly, swatting your hand away with a grin as you giggled, settling back in your seat. “No, seriously,” he replied, his tone shifting to one of genuine admiration.

“It’s quite remarkable how quickly he rose up in the world rankings.” His voice softened as the two of you watched intently, the screen zooming in on Rafe’s concentrated face, capturing the intensity of the moment as he prepared to serve.Everyone held their breath as they watched the ball fly from one end to the other before the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Rafe Cameron has done it once again! Only been in this sport for two years, he now has won 5 grand slams! Unbelievable!” The commentator’s voice seemed to drown out as applause filled the VIP box. You were among the first to stand up, joining in the almost deafening applause. You watch with a smile as Rafe drops to the ground, hands covering his face as the stadium chanted his name.

Standing up, you were captivated, hands clasped under your chin, as Rafe was interviewed. His fingers tousled through his sweat-dampened hair, adjusting his cap with a boyish charm. “Congratulations on winning your fifth Grand Slam! That’s incredible for someone who’s only been in this sport for two years. I mean, that’s insane!” The interviewer’s excitement filled the air.

Rafe chuckled warmly, his smile genuine and infectious. “Thank you. I owe it all to the incredible support I’ve received. I wouldn’t be here without them,” he replied graciously, his eyes reflecting sincerity as he spoke of his supporters.

“Speaking of supportive people, did you happen to notice two special guests up there in the stands watching you?” The interviewer gestured across, and the camera zoomed in on you and your dad. Your cheeks warmed as the spotlight unexpectedly turned to you.

Rafe glanced up at the screen, his smile widening at the sight of your shy smile. “Uh, I did hear some whispers earlier that Steve and y/n might be in the crowd today,” he admitted, his gaze lingering warmly on you and your dad as he waved with genuine warmth. You waved back, feeling a surge of amusement ripple through the crowd.

Admiring Rafe wasn’t just an understatement; he was undeniably attractive. Your dad caught your eye, sharing a knowing glance as you couldn’t help but giggle. “What? You’ve practically given him your approval,” you teased, playfully winking at your dad. He chuckled heartily, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

With your dad’s esteemed reputation in tennis came certain privileges, like standing on court beside Rafe Cameron to award him his trophy.

“Congratulations, Rafe,” you said with a warm smile as he shook your hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “Thank you, y/n,” Rafe replied, his hand lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary, until you heard your dad clear his throat beside you. Rafe quickly released your hand to shake your dad’s, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

“Really well done, young man. Hope you know my team will be in contact with yours very soon,” your dad said with a smile that carried weight, momentarily stunning Rafe at the idea of some sort of partnership. “Thank you, sir. Means a lot coming from you,” Rafe nodded respectfully, acknowledging the significance of your dad’s words before joining him for the group photo.

As the camera clicked, capturing the celebratory moment, you felt your dad’s gentle tug, positioning you next to Rafe. You glanced at your dad, who smiled knowingly for the camera before Rafe’s hand lightly rested on your lower back. The touch sent a wave of warmth through you, causing your cheeks to flush as you focused on smiling for the photo.

y/n_owen

Liked by rafecameronofficial, wimbledon, paulabadosa, tennistv, cartier and 6,937,255 others

hi @wimbledon 🍓

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rafecameronofficial: oh hey.

↘️ y/n_owen: hii

↘️ user01: What’s this? 🤨

↘️ user02: THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER IN THAT INTERVIEW

user03: Rafe Cameron x Y/n Owen would be THE it couple

↘️ user04: frl frl

user05: whatever is going on with Rafe and y/n, I ship it so bad

[inuyashaluver]

Leah williamson:

reader plays for chelsea and they have a match chelsea vs arsenal

north london is ? - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend are enemies on the pitch but absolutely smitten for each other

warnings: suggestive? little swearing - whole lot of fluff, not proofread oopsies

a/n: happy september my loves!!! i eat this shit up, your honour! thank you for the request, enjoyyyyyyyy

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

if there was something that leah felt immense pride over, it would be her lifelong club. arsenal was her home, her place of comfort, and who would’ve expected the girl that bleeds red to be in love with someone that bleeds blue?

leah williamson of arsenal was in love with you, from chelsea.

—

you and leah, the two peas in a pod were incredibly infatuated with each other. it all started in national camps, you and leah collectively making it up in the ranks together. originally, the two of you were best friends, exactly two months apart in age, 5 minutes away from each other's houses.

the progression was natural, and so unbelievably unexpected. you and leah literally began dating out of nowhere.

it was after both of you had training for your respective teams, you went to leah’s, did your usual routine of making dinner together, watching at least three movies before you would head home.

though this one time, when leah walked you to the door, things took a turn.

“alright, babe, drive safe please” leah breathes out, her hand cupping your cheek, smiling at you sweetly before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

you both didn’t even process what just happened. you nod diligently, “i will lee, see you tomorrow!” you grin, closing the door behind you, walking all the way to your car before you freeze.

leah just kissed you. you rush back up to her door, about to knock before leah quickly swung it open before you could even say her name.

“i just kissed you” leah exclaimed, you nod, your hand coming up to touch your lips, “you just kissed me” you confirm, both of you stared at each other for a moment, seconds going by, though feeling like hours.

you and leah both giggle, her hand coming to yours and intertwining them, the other angling your face upwards before she placed her lips on yours once more, slowly backing you into her house. and that’s when you realised, you were in love.

—

you and leah moved in together quickly, a new house the two of you have called home for 5 years. the funniest thing about your relationship, the two of you being in rival clubs. though, you and leah loved it.

you and leah were incredibly flirty in your relationship, teasing being one of yours and leah’s main attributes. you were competitive in the best way, keeping your relationship off the pitch saving the both of you completely.

“oh don’t you look gorgeous!” you tease, coming up behind leah and hugging her from the back. the girl was literally just wearing blue. she laughs, leaning back into you with a cheeky smile as she raked her hair back into a ponytail. 

“well look at you, missy” she gawks jokingly, referring to her red shorts you were wearing, you hop up on the bathroom counter next to her, the girl not hesitating to stand between your open legs while she continued to get ready for bed.

“this means nothing, cappy” you smile at her, booping her nose with your finger before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

she smiles the moment your lips touched her skin, still feeling giddy after all these years when you showed even the tiniest bit of affection. “mhm, and this colour means nothing, baby” she says cheekily, scrunching her nose up cutely before kissing you.

her hand rests on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. when she pulls back from the kiss, she grins at you wolfishly, “but i love you in red” her eyes taking in your appearance.

“sorry but not happening, beautiful” you smile, kissing her again before pulling her into a hug, literally clinging onto her. you always missed her, even when she was right in front of you.

“alright then, maybe we should take the red off” she teases in your ear, her finger making its way to the waistband of the shorts, pulling them back to snap back against your skin.

you chuckle, pulling back to look at her. she smirks when you look her up at down, your hands going under her shirt, “only if i can take the blue off you, i know you don't like it and i can't have you dying on me” you mockingly pout, smiling right after seeing the way leah was looking at you.

“my sweet baby, it's a deal” she laughs, pulling you into a languid kiss before dragging you out of the bathroom.

—

when it came to derby days, oh did you two have fun. you would get ready together dressed in two different club training outfits, being incredibly flirty until the moment you got to your cars and went into game mode. it was hilarious.

“listen, you can score a goal but not past me, got it, darlin’?” leah says sternly, though eyes forming complete hearts as her hand squeezed your cheeks together. “nah, i’m gonna get it past you on purpose” you grin, pulling her hand down to hold it instead. 

she narrows her eyes at you jokingly, her free hand pinching your cheek. “cheeky” she smiles, her hand going from a pinch to a loving caress of her thumb.

“do your best and be careful please, lee baby” your other squeezing her shoulder tenderly. she nods seriously, “you too, my girl” thumb still caressing the apple of your cheek.

you smile and nod at her, letting her hug you tightly, slightly lifting you in the air before she put you down again. “go or you’ll be late” she grins, kissing you sweetly as she pushes you more towards your car.

“always captain williamson, aren't you? it’s not a lioness game” you tease, leah rolls her eyes fondly, squeezing your hips. “yeah, yeah” she cuts you off, kissing you again before opening your car door.

“i love you, my love who is on the wrong side” she teases, “i love you too, my love who is also on the wrong side” you smile cheekily. “ha ha, funny” she kisses you again before pushing you in the car. 

“come on, i don’t want you to be late” she ushers, “if i’m late, i could miss the game and you could win, silly girl,” you tease. leah thinks for a moment, “you’re right actually” she tries to pry you out of the car.

you laugh closing the door, waving at her with the cheesiest smile ever. she waves back in a way that matches your energy before watching you drive away, smiling when you turned off the street before getting in her car and making her own way to the bus.

—

as both teams warm up on the pitch, you and leah began the teasing again. leah walked up to you, hand on your hip as you talked to niamh about something random.

“this doesn’t look like warming up girls” she teases, you shake your head, recognising the touch and voice quicker than the speed of light.

“and what are you doing, lee lee?” you smile up at her, booping her nose with yours, something niamh grimaced at fondly before walking up to aggie to leave the lovebirds alone.

“i can’t come say hello?” she smiles, spinning you around to face her. you can’t help but smile back at her, feeling the love bubble up in your chest.

“are you sure you’re not spying?’ you tease, leah gasps, “never!” you laugh, your hand squeezing her bicep. she gives you a quick, tame kiss before separating from you. "you're forgetting i know you better than myself" she flirts, "you too" you tease.

“do your best, babe” you pull her in for another quick kiss, “you do your best, lee” she smiles, “alright, now go away, you’re distracting me” she jokes.

you laugh in surprise, giving her a playful shove, “you came here! you’re on my side!” you shake your head, leah runs backwards, shrugging her shoulders, “nah, babe, never!” she winks, blowing you a kiss before going back to training.

—

the game ended with an arsenal win, though you managed to score a goal, the score just rounding off to be 2-1. a derby was always a hard match to play, especially if it was at the emirates.

you and leah always saved each other till last at the end of a match, a tradition even from when you were both best friends. she gives you a bittersweet smile when you spot her towards the middle of the pitch, she holds her arms out to you.

you smile, walking into them and letting out a long sigh, leah always gave the best hugs, especially after a loss. “you played so well my love, that goal was class” she says comfortingly, her hands rubbing up and down your back.

there was always a little disappointment after a loss but leah made it so much better. “you played amazing, lee baby” you smile up at her proudly, your hand brushing a stray hair off her forehead from her ponytail. 

“i’m proud of you, darlin’” she kisses your forehead, swaying you gently from side to side, always knowing how to make you feel better as if it was second nature.

“i’m proud of you, baby” you grin, “i almost got that second goal past you, huh?” you tease, leah groans and rolls her eyes with mock anger, “nah, you did not” smile fighting its way to her lips. 

“i did so!” you place your chin on her chest as you look up at her, “listen here, you little shit-” she laughs, though is cut off when you rip yourself from her arms and sprint around the pitch.

the both of you laugh so hard as she chased you around, leah managing to catch you and tackle you to the ground.

you both huff and puff, running around like that after 90 minutes was rough.

you both stare at each other before breaking into another fit of giggles, letting leah help you off the ground before you both went and did a lap of photos and signatures together, just the way you both liked it.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily keiraaaa

liked by bethmead_ and 44, 232 others

leahwilliamsonn: fav time of the year with my fav person xx

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yourname: you're just saying this cause im not in my chelsea gear

↳ leahwilliamson: WHATTTT? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

↳ yourname: sure, hun

yourname: my fav time too actually

↳ leahwilliamsonn: i'm not your fav person?!

↳ yourname: OF COURSE YOU ARE

↳ yourname: just not on derby days

↳ leahwilliamsonn: touché

[mzyjxu]

Part: 1, 2, 3, 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁

Every few days, Satoru would show up at your door, not with bruises, but with a paper bag rustling with kitten formula, treats, a tiny pink collar with a bell, or a small toy mouse Lady Purrshia would play with in Satoru's presence! (he got jealous and secretly slid it between the couch, he thinks you have no idea but you did watch him being a menace)

One night, he knocked with a bag of premium wet food and declared, “Child support.”

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

He held up the bag like he was shooting for an advertisement. “You’re raising our daughter alone. I’m just doing my part.”

You rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

No matter how crazy he was Lady Purrshia adored him. She’d go full baby mode around him, curling up in the crook of his arm, mewling at his attention, shyly showing him her stomach for pets, purring like she’d swallowed an engine.

And maybe you did too, a little. Not purr. But soften around him.

It felt easy. Safe. Comfortable.

"Now, why is my princess still making biscuits?" he picked her up and sat on the couch. "Is mama making you do extra work at the bakery?" he asked her, holding her in front of his face.

"That's child labour Toru, just accept that your child loves making biscuits” you explained, giggling.

It was perfect.

Everything in the moment was perfect.

Satoru on the couch, holding Lady Purrshia close, her tiny nose pressed into his collar as she purred with absolute trust probably complaining about how you don't give her treats at every hour of the day no matter how cranky she gets, you stood in the kitchen, towel in hand, frozen mid-motion.

You realized that you were looking at him, no, you were looking at him- affectionately.

Your chest ached with a strange kind of warmth. Foreign. Familiar. Dangerous. Safe. Home.

He wasn’t doing anything remarkable—just cradling a kitten, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly along her back, eyes soft. But the way Lady Purrshia leaned into him, the way Satoru looked at her like she was a little moon orbiting his chest—

You felt it. Like something blooming in your ribcage, the same feeling you felt when you found him in front of the dumpster, when he brought Lady Purrshia home, the same damn fluttering.

You blinked. The world outside was changing, just weeks ago you met him in late September, when the sky had wept like it knew your sadness. It had rained endlessly, soaking the city in long hours of grey. You remember pulling your coat tighter around your body when you saw him for the first time, his damp jacket. You were both trying to stay warm in a season that hadn’t quite decided what it was.

Now it's mid-November, the rain had passed. The leaves had turned. Burnt amber, faded gold, soft ochre—the streets were scattered with the colors of things ending gracefully. The puddles have turned into kaleidoscope bouncing the soft sunlight. Something softer, something warmer.

He changed it. He changed your harsh rain into warm sunlight.

Maybe this was what safety looked like.

Not silence. Not stillness.

But a detective with bruised knuckles and a kitten in his lap. Everything is perfect.

Until one day he stopped coming.

On the first day, you thought he was just busy, on the second day you started feeling nervous, texting him Purrshia's pic as an excuse to see if he was fine, he didn't read it, on the third day you called him- no reply, fourth day your anxiety got worse, the feline started noticing her papa missing and mama being so restless, at night she snuggled in your chest, “I’m scared purrshie, I'm like really scared *starts crying softly* I hope.. I hope he is fine" she snuggled closer helping you to sleep.

On the fifth day, you decided that it was all stupid, you were stupid for bringing a stranger home, you were a fool for letting him come over whenever he needed help, absurd for playing house with him- raising a cat, what a nuisance you were.

You still call him every day, just to know if he is safe.

But from his side, silence. No messages. No calls. His phone rang and rang, then went dead.

You waited. Hours became days. A week passed.

By then, worry had cracked open something deeper.

.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖

It was the end of a long shift. The ER was buzzing with low chaos—someone was yelling about chest pain, someone else was vomiting in the waiting area. Emergency medicine taught you to be calm as a millpond under all the chaos. You never thought that a man would make you so anxious by not picking up your calls- here you go again thinking about him.

You changed your clothes, throwing your scrubs into the resident's laundry, punching your attendance card, and signing off of your duty, debating on what to eat and the books you need for your master's exam. Then suddenly-

“Doctor, I know your shift’s over, but we’re short-staffed. Quick consult—mild trauma. No interns around.”

You sighed. Your shoulders ached. Your legs felt like concrete. But you nodded. “Its okay, I'am coming.” smiling at her.

You walked briskly into the exam room. Glanced at the chart. Gloved up.

And froze.

There he was.

Satoru.

Standing against the wall, still in his dark jacket. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, hair disheveled like he hadn’t slept in days. Beside him sat a younger detective, wincing and clutching a bloodied shoulder. Satoru's eyes were wide when he saw you.

You internally felt like a huge rock of constant nervousness and worry had been taken off of you, now that you have seen him- safe, you decided to never get attached with anyone in you life ever again.

You stepped past him, quietly assessing the injury, gently cleaning and bandaging the wound. Your hands were steady. Efficient. Your voice calm and professional.

You didn’t even look at him.

And Satoru knew.

After you finished, you turned to the nurse. “Vitals stable. No need to admit. Discharge when he’s ready.”

"Be careful next time, you got lucky today" you adviced the younger detective, he nodded.

Then you walked out. Picked you bag and stormed out of the centre.

He followed you out of the ER, past the sliding doors and into the cool, sharp air of the parking lot.

“YN—”

You kept walking.

“YN, wait.”

You stopped. Took a deep breath. Turned around. Your eyes flashed—not angry, but hurt. So deeply hurt.

“Where were you?” your voice was low, trembling, you thought you will sound stronger but you enotions took a toll on you. “Why didn’t you pick up me calls? You disappear for a week, and you clearly have your phone with you, was texting me back really that hard?

He was silent. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Do you know how scared I was?” you whispered. “Do you?”

He took a step forward. “Please. Can we just go home? I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”

You stared at him. Your chest rose and fell with the weight of unspoken fears. Then, after a long pause, you nodded.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

note: hi guys, this chapter was getting little long so i decided to cut it in two part, the next one will be here asap, thank for reading, i really appreciate ya'll, i will keep on improving, love ya~~

*TO BE CONTINUED*

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Time for today's silly Merlin au! This time featuring himbo Arthur!

I think that the show should have leaned into the whole "Merlin's technically a creature of magic" aspect, both in terms of being magic incarnate and kin to the dragons, and I think Arthur should have also been forced to come to terms with it as well. However, this is Arthur we're talking about, so of course he wouldn't come to the right conclusions right away.

In this scenario, around season 5-ish, there's an evil sorcerer seeking revenge against Camelot for the purge who puts a spell on all of the humans in Camelot, one that would weaken them and cause such fatigue that no one would be able to even stand up after a while. But it's a powerful and taxing spell to cast, so the sorcerer can only afford to target the humans in Camelot to keep the number of targets as low as possible. Besides, what could the livestock in Camelot do to stop him anyways?

So everyone in Camelot is falling under this spell, and Arthur and the knights are rushing to prepare for battle against the sorcerer to make him lift the spell. However, with each hour that passes, everyone grows weaker and weaker.

Merlin does, of course, know that this spell has been cast and what it does, but he doesn't feel its affects and assumes that his magic is protecting him. He acts like he's growing weaker so he doesn't fall under anyone's suspicions for the wrong reasons. However, after Merlin summons and talks to Kilgarrah for advice on how to break the spell, Kilgarrah informs him that Merlin wasn't protected by his magic, but rather by the fact that he isn't truly human.

And Merlin decides to unpack the implications of that some other time, because he's got a kingdom and a prat to save.

Fast forwards to the knights getting their asses kicked by the sorcerer and the evil sorcerer preparing to kill Arthur, who's lying on the ground with his eyes closed. All the other knights were knocked out by a blast from the sorcerer, but Arthur's still barely clinging to consciousness, yet he's too weak to even open his eyes. All he can do is listen helplessly as the sorcerer prepares to kill them all.

But then the sorcerer yelps, as if he were hit by something. Arthur's hope skyrockets as the sorcerer yells "You! How are you even still awake?! Every single human in Camelot should be feeling the full effects of the spell by now!" Arthur thinks for a moment that one of his knights has found enough strength to overcome the spell and fight back, but that hope is quickly dashed when he hears Merlin's voice responding like he isn't tired in the slightest, saying, "Well it's a good thing I was never really human then."

Merlin decided to say that to throw the sorcerer off-kilter enough to distract him and give Merlin an advantage in the fight. Besides, Merlin can see that all of the knights, including Arthur, are knocked out on the ground, so there's no harm in admitting it to this sorcerer who he's definitely going to have to kill.

Arthur, meanwhile, is still conscious and completely reeling from Merlin's words. What the hell did he mean he wasn't human?! Has some vile magical creature taken Merlin's place?

After the battle (which sounded to Arthur like a bunch of grunts, pained yelps, and a final, wet gurgle), Arthur could feel the effects of the spell lifting, letting him open his eyes with a gasp. He frantically looks around to make sure Merlin's ok, but Merlin's only a few steps away from him, while the sorcerer lies dead on the ground with a sword buried in his chest.

Hearing Arthur's gasp, Merlin turns to him with a relieved smile and helps pulls Arthur to his feet. Arthur, meanwhile, is too stunned to even ask how Merlin of all people managed to kill a powerful sorcerer by himself, but Merlin's giving some unbelievable explanation that involves distracting the sorcerer and then getting a miraculous opening and stabbing the sorcerer. Arthur's nodding along, but inside, he's really searching man who might be Merlin or might be some magical imposter posing as Merlin, as awful as that is for Arthur to consider, for any signs that he's truly Merlin.

If he's an imposter, Arthur has to give him credit, he plays his part well. The man in front of him looks exactly like Merlin, talks like Merlin, walks with Merlin's lanky gait, and seems to know everything Merlin knows, even their inside jokes. Still, Arthur needs to be sure, so after they get back to the castle, Arthur goes down to the vaults and grabs a secret object that Uther used in the purge that could detect illusions and glamor magics. It was a simple clear crystal in the shape of a sphere and small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand, but if someone or something that was using magic to alter their appearance came into contact with it, the crystal would glow with a bright light.

Arthur plants the sphere in his chambers and disguises it as a new paperweight. The next day, Arthur pretends to accidentally knock it off his desk, sending it rolling across the floor, and orders the maybe-Merlin to pick it up and bring it back to his desk. Maybe-Merlin rolls his eyes in a perfect imitation of Merlin and walks over to the crystal. To Arthur's shock and relief, the crystal doesn't glow when Merlin picks it up, so he definitely is the true Merlin.

But then that leads Arthur to a horrible conclusion: the Merlin he knew wasn't a human, and never was. And the only creatures with the ability to look convincingly human were creatures of magic.

Oh god, Merlin was a creature of magic.

Arthur decides that, in order for him to plot an appropriate course of action, he needs more information. Namely, he needs to know what exactly Merlin is.

So, Arthur sneaks into the library and secretly takes some of the bestiaries, searching for what manner of creature Merlin truly is. Arthur tries not to jump to the worst possible conclusions, but all of the creatures of magic that can take human form that Arthur knows of are horrible monsters that prey on humans. Take the sidhe and the lamia for examples!

But people don't randomly go missing or turn up dead from monster attacks very frequently in Camelot, and Merlin cries when Arthur so much as shoots a bunny, so if Merlin's some sort of monster that kills and eats humans, he's doing a piss poor job at being one. So, Merlin must be some sort of creature that doesn't hurt humans, which certainly narrows down the list.

Arthur eventually finds a list of peaceful, human-like creatures of magic, and he starts trying to narrow down what Merlin is. He couldn't be an elf, since his ears were huge and round, not pointed. He couldn't be a gnome, he was too tall and gangly. He couldn't be a nymph, he spent too much time indoors to be a nature spirit. He couldn't be a leprechaun, he didn't have a beard or an affinity towards gold. He couldn't be a fae or a sidhe, he doesn't make deals with anyone (besides when he goes gambling at the tavern). And he certainly couldn't be a dragonlord, they were all dead!

Arthur was just about to give up when he finally found what he was looking for! The book's passage on fairies described them as benevolent relatives to the fae who would often disguise themselves as humans and would bring good luck and fortune to whoever befriended them, while sometimes engaging in some fun mischief! That must be Merlin!

Come to think of it, Arthur did have some great moments of luck, some of them almost miraculous! Morgana's magic failing her the day of a battle, defeating a dragon single-handedly, surviving the questing beast's bite, and of course defeating monsters that were said to only be killed through magic. And Merlin had been there for all of those events!

The book also describes fairies as creatures that love all living beings and are closely connected with nature, which makes perfect sense considering how much Merlin hates hunting! And fairies could see into the true hearts of people, which was how Merlin always knew if a person was untrustworthy!

It all made so much sense! This even explained Merlin's random "visits to the tavern", when Arthur knew that Merlin rarely ever drank. According to the book, fairies could only maintain their human forms for so long before they needed to spend some time in their smaller winged forms.

The book even addressed how fairies could be born from a union between a particularly powerful fairy and a human, which even explained why Merlin never knew his father and how Merlin could be a creature of magic while having a human mother!

Now that he knew the truth, Arthur felt so much relief! His best friend wasn't some diabolical monster, he was just a playful and friendly fairy trying to live as a human! It made so much sense!

And now all Arthur had to do was prove it. All evidence pointed to Merlin being a fairy, but he needed concrete proof before he could take any action. According to the book, the blood of a fairy in a human disguise sparkled under the light of a full moon. So, Arthur devised a plan to take Merlin out on an overnight hunting trip the day before the next full moon and "accidentally" cut Merlin's arm with one of the crossbow bolts. Arthur would then bandage the cut for Merlin and, after a couple hours, insist on changing the bandages, and pocket the first bloodied bandage.

Sure, Arthur felt guilty about purposely cutting his friend, but this was Merlin's fault for keeping the fact that he wasn't human a secret over their ten years of friendship! So, Arthur goes through with his plan, and when he held the used bandage up to the moonlight after Merlin had fallen asleep, he has to hold back a gasp as the red blood on the cloth shimmers and turns a bright golden color. Well, the book was right, the blood certainly sparkled!

(It was a shame that Arthur never read into warlocks, and how the magic in a warlock's blood made their blood turn gold under the light of a full moon.)

Arthur then turned to look at his peacefully sleeping friend, and swore that he would do everything he could to help his friendly little fairy.

Shortly after that revelation, Arthur starts actively noticing all of the strokes of luck he has. Bandits can never land a hit on him because they're too busy getting knocked out by tree branches or tripping over roots, his baths and meals are always the perfect temperature no matter how long he waits, and his injuries all heal at near-impossible rates. Hell, Arthur couldn't even recall the last time he got sick with something as small as a cold!

So Arthur tries to do little things for Merlin to show him his appreciation, like giving Merlin flower crowns (which fairies are said to like and Merlin absolutely adores), giving him a shiny silver mirror (fairies are supposed to like shiny things, and Merlin's never had a proper mirror before), and giving Merlin parts of his own meals as a food offering (which Merlin of course isn't about to turn down).

(Arthur's also kinda frustrated at the lack of information about fairy courting rituals lol!)

But Arthur isn't the best at keeping secrets, so the knights of the round table eventually catch him trying to set up a nice little fairy ring for Merlin in the garden, and they also "figure out" that Merlin is a fairy, and it all spirals from there until the entire castle is trying to show their appreciation for their fairy friend.

Merlin's very confused by all of this (since Arthur's terrible at actually communicating, Merlin doesn't know that Arthur thinks he's a fairy), but he's not about to turn down all of these lovely gifts!

And there's lots of different directions the story could go from there! A pretty funny scenario would be some rival king catching wind of how Camelot's great victories are all because of their king befriending a kind fairy, so he kidnaps Merlin in an attempt to make Merlin grant him such great luck and victory in battle. However, all they do to imprison Merlin is pour a circle of salt around him (since they firmly believe that fairies cannot cross a barrier of salt).

Merlin's just kinda raises an eyebrow and thinks that this is the weirdest kidnapping ever, steps over the salt, and escapes back to Camelot.

Thank you for reading through my rambling! :D

[xuchiya]

teasing is the new delulu || song mingi || one-shot

| genre: fluff. slice of life. enemies-to-lovers- kind of trope. office kind of trope. | mentions: literally teasing each other. you teasing him. mingi teasing you.

You had just returned from the meeting, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders as you glanced at the clock—5:00 PM. Just thirty more minutes and you could finally crash onto your bed, the thought of sleeping a siren’s call after the endless back-to-back discussions. With a sigh, you placed your laptop onto the table and sank into your chair, scribbling down the tasks you had been assigned.

The office was alive as always, filled with the familiar sounds of rapid keyboard clicks, quiet chatter, and the occasional teasing among soft-developers. From across the room, a burst of laughter echoed as someone cracked a joke, while outside the glass walls, people were already packing up, ready to return home.

Just as you were about to start your task—at least for a few minutes—your product manager called your name. You looked up to see her sliding her laptop aside, motioning for you to pull up a chair.

“I have a few things to show you,” she said, her expression a mix of amusement and expectation.

Here’s the thing—your office wasn’t like the usual corporate setting with cubicles and private desks. Instead, it had the feel of a studio apartment, open and collaborative, with long wooden tables where everyone worked side by side. It was the kind of environment that thrived on creativity rather than competition, where ideas were shared freely, and camaraderie flourished.

You grabbed a chair and settled in between her and your fellow intern. But the moment you took your seat, you realized something.

Of course, your product manager preferred you nearby whenever you worked on layout designs, which meant sharing a workspace with none other than Song Mingi.

And that meant war.

“You’re seriously using that color palette?” Mingi’s voice cut through the air, his tone a perfect mix of judgment and disbelief as he side-eyed your screen like it personally offended him. You didn’t even look up. Smirking, you clicked on another shade—just to be extra. “You’re seriously still breathing near my workspace?”

His jaw dropped in exaggerated betrayal. “Unbelievable.”

Your bickering had long since become a staple of the office. So much so that even your supervisors had started teasing you both, throwing around comments like, “Married couple energy,” and “Just confess already,” every time you two went at it. It was routine. Comfortable.

And most importantly, it was fun.

But today, you decided to flip the script.

As you placed the final layer on your tab, you leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on his desk and tilting your head just enough to breach his personal space. “Why so grumpy today, Mingi? You’re usually better at keeping up.”

You saw it instantly—the way his fingers twitched against the keyboard, the slight stiffening of his shoulders. “I’m not grumpy,” he mumbled, eyes locked on his screen like it held the secrets of the universe.

You didn’t need to look hard to see the telltale flush creeping up his neck. From this angle, he was absolutely flustered. Grinning, you seized the opportunity. With a swift flick, you tapped his ear.

“Really? ’Cause your ears are turning red.”

Mingi choked. “W-What? No, they’re not!”

Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you tapped his shoulder lightly, reveling in the way he tensed under your touch. “Aw, did I make Mingi shy? That’s cute.”

His eyes darted around the room as if searching for backup, but it was useless—everyone else was very pointedly pretending not to be invested in your little exchange.

“I’m not shy,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re just—you’re being weird.”

Feigning offense, you pressed a hand to your chest. “Me? Weird? I’m just having a conversation with my favorite co-intern.”

His head snapped toward you so fast you were sure he nearly gave himself whiplash. “F-Favorite?”

You winked, returning your attention back to your work. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Mingi let out a strangled noise before dramatically spinning his chair away, his entire body radiating flustered energy. “I’m done with this conversation.” Chuckling, you leaned back in your chair, watching as his shoulders remained stiff, his ears still noticeably red.

This was new. And honestly? You were going to milk this moment for all it was worth.

The teasing didn’t stop there.

Later that evening, the entire office spilled onto the lively streets, stepping out for a well-earned dinner after surviving endless nights of debugging and stress-fueled coffee runs. The nearby food park was alive with movement—bright lights strung between stalls cast a golden glow over sizzling grills, the air thick with the mouthwatering scent of smoky meats and fried street food. Laughter rippled through the crowd as vendors called out orders, the hum of conversation blending with the occasional clatter of utensils.

Your stomach growled as your eyes locked onto your favorite stall—the one selling those golden, crispy, cheese-filled corndogs you had been craving for weeks. Your steps quickened in anticipation, but just as you reached for your wallet, a sudden tug at your ID lace yanked you back.

You stumbled slightly, whipping around with a glare. “Are you serious?”

Before you could react, a group of kids darted past you, barely missing your legs. Mingi let out a quiet sigh of relief, though he quickly masked it with a smirk. “What?” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Just making sure you don’t run off. like those kids”

You rolled your eyes. “Very funny.” Reaching for your ID, you tried to snatch it back, but he was faster, holding it just beyond your reach with a smug grin.

“Mingi,” you warned, stepping closer. His smirk faltered ever so slightly. “W-Wait—”

You surged forward, stretching up to grab your ID. Your fingers brushed against his, the warmth of his skin sending a small shiver down your spine. It wasn’t until you finally reclaimed your ID that you realized just how close you were. Your faces were barely a breath apart, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the air around you.

His eyes widened, his usual confidence slipping for just a second. And there it was—that telltale shade of red creeping up his ears.

“Oh?” A teasing lilt curled into your voice as you tilted your head, your hand still resting lightly against his chest. Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Why do you look so nervous?”

“I-I’m not,” he stammered, stepping back so abruptly that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

You chuckled, the sound light and teasing. “Aw, is Mingi getting flustered again?”

“N-No!” he protested, clearing his throat as he turned toward the menu like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “What do you want to eat? My treat.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms. “Trying to change the topic, are we?”

“I just don’t want you saying I don’t treat my ‘favorite co-intern’ well,” he muttered, still steadfastly avoiding your gaze.

This was too fun.

You leaned in ever so slightly, watching with amusement as he stiffened. “Careful, Mingi,” you murmured, your voice dropping just enough to make his ears turn impossibly redder. “I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He nearly choked on air. And with that, you walked ahead, leaving him standing there—red-faced, heart racing, and utterly, helplessly flustered. As you reached your table with your food, you couldn’t help but notice Mingi stealing glances your way, his flustered expression lingering even as he tried to act normal. 

His fingers drummed idly against the side of his drink, but his eyes kept flicking back to you, betraying him. You smirked, reveling in the fact that, for once, you were the one throwing him off balance.

“You’ve been staring for a while, Mingi.” You popped a fry into your mouth, tilting your head with feigned innocence. “Something on my face?”

For a moment his body twitch in a way of responding a snarky remark yet he straightened immediately, his entire demeanor shifting. Gone was the nervous boy from earlier—now, he leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers lazily against the table as he met your gaze with a newfound confidence.

“No,” he said casually, then let his lips curl into a slow smirk. “Just wondering how someone so annoying can still be kinda cute.”

You froze mid-chew.

Wait.

Hold on.

Did he just—?

Your brain stalled. Mingi’s smirk widened at your silence, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

For the first time since this game started, you were the one caught off guard. A traitorous heat crept up your neck, and your heart did an embarrassing flip before you could shut it down. You scrambled for a comeback, but all that came out was a choked, “Hah?”

Mingi chuckled, his voice rich with amusement as he studied your expression. Slowly, he took a sip of his drink, dragging out the moment, savoring his small victory. Then, with a smirk sharper than ever, he murmured, “Flustered?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you with an intensity that sent another unwelcome flutter through your chest. “That’s cute.”

Your eyes widened. He did not just—

“You—you stole my line!” you accused, jabbing a finger at him as if that would somehow erase the smug look on his face.

Mingi only chuckled, completely unfazed. “Gotta keep up, favorite co-intern.”

And just like that, the tables had turned.

[milksnake-tea]

(hi 🪼 i don't have a good sense of time so if this is way too late please feel free to bat this ask out the window)

can i ask for a nanook w/ prompt n. 5? (romantic) feel free to twist it however you want!!

❀ ˎˊ- prompts: They get caught staring at you. ❀ ˎˊ- 1k followers event ❀ ˎˊ- character: nanook ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: none ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: I'M ASSUMING U MEANT FLUFF SO THATS WHAT IM GOING W BC ITS CUTE !!! imma be honest im really bad at ending stuff so im not too happy w the ending here, but i hope u liked this !!

For such a violent Aeon, Nanook was a quiet soul.

Many of your conversations were one-sided, with you rambling about your day while Nanook merely listened and observed, occasionally playing with your hair or poking at you - much like a cat, you'd often say. Whenever you mentioned that to them, they'd only respond with a comforting rumbling of their chest, which was their version of a chuckle.

You laid on your side in their large palm, the Aeon currently occupied with other matters - most likely implanting another Stellaron in some unfortunate planet. Rings of molten gold glowed above you, some of that glowing liquid dripping down in waterfalls of melted metal. But you paid no matter to that.

Instead, you focused on tracing lines on the Aeon's palm, fascinated with the folds and scars that spanned over their dark skin. Beneath those thin stretches of skin glowed the golden blood of Nanook, much like a lantern. When you pressed your ear against them, you could briefly feel a pulsing beat against your head - Nanook's heartbeat.

You hummed to yourself, a sweet melody drifting through the endless void. When Nanook was busy, it was in your best interest to keep quiet. Any distractions, and Nanook might accidentally kill you instead of a planet (it's happened before).

It took a few moments of pure silence before you noticed a pair of eyes trained on your body. Knowing that there was only one other person in this space, you rolled over to meet Nanook's gaze.

You couldn't see the entirety of Nanook's body from where you were, but you didn't mind. The honey-like amber of Nanook's eyes was enough to enrapture you - no matter how many times you saw it, you were fascinated by their beauty each time.

The Aeon rested their head on one of their hands, leaning into their palm as they watched you - a hint of fondness making its way onto their expression.

You smiled cheekily up at the Aeon whose name sparked fear into the hearts of countless.

"Enjoying the view?" you teased. Nanook raised a brow.

"And if I am?" they mused. Their voice was low, yet unbelievably loud. It rumbled throughout the galaxy, both soothing and overwhelming to your ears.

Rather than replying, you sat up and beckoned towards them, making grabbing motions with your hands. Obliging, Nanook lifted you to their face so that you could touch them.

Their skin was warm like a fireplace under your skin. Nanook's eyes fluttered closed as you kissed their nose and nuzzled against them. A smile flickered onto their lips, but it was gone as fast as it had come.

"You know," you hummed, "for an Aeon of Destruction, you're awfully gentle."

"Only for you."

You chuckled, pressing your forehead to theirs as they tilted their head down. "Quite adorable too."

You didn't see it, but you knew Nanook was rolling their eyes at you. But you didn't really care. All that mattered right now was this moment, a silent yet intimate night among the cosmos.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Orbiting: pt.1°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [600+ idiot fwb to lovers; mutual pining, both has the libido of a teenage boy, it's so cliche it's unbelievable how clueless they are]

-

“Don’t stop baby,” Jungkook moans. He love-hates how you're slowly bouncing on top him. On one hand, he loves how you use him to pleasure yourself, slowly sinking inch by inch until you spear yourself on his cock. On the other, he wants nothing else than to fuck you dumb and to his pace—hard and unrelenting, he wants nothing spilling on your lips but his name and moans of pleasure.

"Come on, Y/N," he urges as he tries to thrust into you, his cock impaling you on top of him and you can't help but moan louder. "Fuck," you pant, "do that again." And so he does, planting his feet on the bed, his hips angled, he pistons his cock into you, bottoming out. Your body goes pliant above him as you submit yourself to your shared pleasure, your mouths move like magnets finding each other and momentarily locking in a heated kiss.

Jungkook reaches for your hand, brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles, and it has you fucked. It's small gestures like this that makes not only your pussy clench, but your heart, too. It just feels too intimate, as if you're more than good friends seeking each other out after his game for a good fuck to relax his adrenaline.

Needing to ground yourself, you pin his hand beside his head and pull him for another kiss. Because a kiss, you can handle. You've kissed many times before—your lips already familiar to his teasing bites, your tongues danced sloppily around each other's mouth a thousand times.

With his other hand rubbing your clit, you unravel within minutes. Jungkook erratically thrusts below you, chasing his high, until heavy grunts leave his lips as he cums.

"Fuck, that was..." you pant, mind blanking as you look for the right word, still in a bliss. Jungkook only chuckles, hand caressing your back, basking in your afterglow.

But the moment is short-lived, and Jungkook eyes you as you pull away, "Second round at my place?"

"Not today," you pout, "I have to be at the rink in about...5 minutes."

"Can I watch?"

"Nope. Coach says it's closed practice for today. Something about a new skater coming in for tryouts." You're rushing to get dressed and Jungkook helps by fixing your skirt.

"Again?"

"Yep, apparently the last guy said I was too much of a bitch to skate with," Jungkook sees you roll your eyes. "Ah. That just means he can't keep up and you bruised his ego."

"Right," you humor him, watching him pull away to pick up his clothes, "you said that about the last guy, too."

Jungkook hums, "Him, too."

"And what about you? You can keep up with me, right?"

Knowing where the conversation's going, Jungkook faces you, "Y/N, that was for fun. And we were teens then," he chuckles, "I tackle men now and hit pucks on the ice," he's walking back to you, "none of what I do fits the graceful criteria your coach is looking for."

You giggle, having already known his answer but it's worth the ask because you've seen Jungkook bust a move on ice. Granted, not as graceful as you, but even you started out stiff.

"Right," strands of your bangs fall on your face as you nod, and Jungkook's hands, like habit, reach out to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture not lost on you and your knees buckle. If only there were no consequences from missing today's practice, you would gladly suck his cock dry right here and now.

"Plus, seeing the routines you do, there would be too much tension building between us that by the middle of a routine," his eyes flicker to your lips, "I might end up taking you on ice."

Oh, you are his to ruin. If only he knew.

Pulling your mind out of the gutter, you scoff, eyes rolling once again and push him by the chest. Again, Jungkook only laughs as he takes your hand and leads you out of the lockers.

-

>> Page 2

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 4 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

A few days ago, you heard the news that your former manager had died. And today, you found out your ex-fiancé was dead too.

What the fuck is going on?

You had just attended one funeral, and now you were going to another.

With a deep breath, you opened your wardrobe, reaching for something black to wear. Your fingers brushed against a thick jacket, and for a moment, you froze. Jack’s jacket.

He had given it to you on a cold night when you had been shivering after a performance, dressed in nothing but thin stage clothes. “My dear is trembling like a cat. Here.” He had taken off his jacket and wrapped it around you. Since then, you have kept it, carried it with you, even after everything that happened.

You and Jack had started together, two newcomers struggling in the same agency. He had been humble, funny, and caring—someone you could rely on. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man like that?

But as his career skyrocketed and he surrounded himself with the wrong people, he changed. The warmth he once had faded, replaced by arrogance, recklessness, and lies.

Still, you had held on, believing—hoping—that the man you once loved would return. That he would snap out of it, remember who he was before the fame. But waiting was useless. Instead of giving you the love you wanted, he cheated. He spiraled into drugs.

That was your breaking point. That was when you finally walked away.

You had hated him for it. But now…

Now, he was dead.

Tears welled up before you even realized it. You hated crying over him, hated that he still had that power over you. But love, anger, regret—they all blurred together into something you couldn’t control.

A knock on the door pulled you out of it. You quickly wiped your face, but it was too late.

Bucky stepped inside, his eyes immediately narrowing. “Why are you crying?”

You swallowed hard, your voice hoarse. “My ex-fiancé just died.”

Bucky tilted his head, unfazed. “Huh. I’ve seen people die right in front of me more times than I can count.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Didn’t cry once.”

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “You—” Words failed you. “Unbelievable.”

Whatever grief you had been drowning in evaporated, replaced with sheer frustration. His complete lack of empathy made you want to scream.

Bucky, of course, seemed pleased with himself. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that infuriatingly amused expression. Then, as if piecing something together, his smirk faded just slightly. "Something doesn't add up."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

He crossed his arms. "Your manager died. Now your ex-fiancé. Within days of each other. That’s not just bad luck, sweetheart."

Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t thought about it that way.

Bucky sighed dramatically, as if he were about to deliver bad news but couldn’t quite bring himself to be serious about it. "Prepare yourself. A detective will probably drop by soon with questions."

Your heart dropped. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured vaguely. “Two people close to you died back-to-back. That raises eyebrows.”

You exhaled, feeling drained. Another chapter of your life unfolding—one you hadn’t asked for, one you weren’t ready for.

Bucky, on the other hand, grinned like he was actually enjoying this. “This is getting interesting.”

You shot him a glare. “Glad you’re entertained.”

He winked. “I always am.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Jack’s Funeral

The moment you stepped inside, the room fell silent.

All eyes turned toward you—the ex-fiancée of the deceased—arriving at his funeral with another man.

Whispers rippled through the mourners, hushed yet sharp, like knives sliding between ribs. You could feel their judgment pressing against your skin, suffocating. Some stared in curiosity, others in barely concealed disdain.

You kept your head high, gripping the strap of your purse a little tighter.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention. With his hands tucked casually in his pockets, he leaned toward you and muttered, "Quite the audience. Should I give a speech?"

You elbowed him in the ribs. "Not the time, Barnes."

He chuckled but didn’t push further.

You approached Jack’s family, offering your condolences, but his mother barely acknowledged you. Grief lined her face, her hands gripping a tissue tightly as if it were the only thing holding her together.

You didn’t blame her for the cold reception. After all, you had left Jack long before his downward spiral. To them, you had abandoned him.

But even as you tried to pay your respects, the weight of their stares never lifted.

Outside the Funeral

The moment you and Bucky stepped outside, fresh air filled your lungs. You inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the tension lingering from inside.

Before you could reach your car, two men in dark suits approached.

Detectives.

Your stomach tightened.

Bucky sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Took them long enough."

One of the detectives, a man with graying hair and sharp eyes, pulled out a notepad. "Miss, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Mr. Lancaster’s death."

You straightened your posture. "Of course."

"Where were you last night?"

"At my apartment," you answered. "With him." You tilted your head toward Bucky.

The other detective, a younger man with glasses, glanced between you and Bucky. "May I ask the nature of your relationship?"

Before you could speak, Bucky did.

“Her boyfriend.” His voice was smooth, confident. “Both of us were together last night.”

Then, without warning, he reached over and tugged the neckline of your dress down just enough to expose your collarbone.

Your breath hitched. “Bucky, what the hell—”

"Is this enough proof?" he asked nonchalantly.

The two detectives instantly flushed, looking away in embarrassment. You, meanwhile, had no idea what they were even looking at—until they mumbled a hasty, "We’ll keep in touch, Miss."

As they walked away, you caught a murmur between them.

"Celebrities… It’s easy for them to find new sex partners."

Your jaw clenched.

Once inside the car, you yanked down the sun visor, flipped open the mirror, and turned on your phone’s front camera. The second you saw your reflection, your eyes widened.

“BUCKY!”

He smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Not loud enough."

You pointed furiously at your collarbone. "What the hell is this?! It looks like a hickey! How did you even—?"

With an innocent expression, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube.

Your red lipstick.

Your glare intensified. "How the fuck did you even get that?!"

Bucky twirled it between his fingers. "I have my ways." Then he winked. "Consider it a little magic trick."

You wanted to be mad—really, you did—but you couldn’t deny that his ridiculous stunt had shut down the detectives’ questioning. With an exhausted sigh, you muttered, "Thanks."

“You’re welcome.” His grin widened.

Then, just as you thought the conversation was over, he casually added, “He should’ve gotten an autopsy.”

Your brows furrowed. "You mean Jack?"

He nodded, tapping his fingers against the dashboard.

"His parents don’t want one."

Bucky scoffed. "Their loss."

Something about his tone sent a chill down your spine.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The weight of the day pressed down on you the moment you stepped into your apartment. Exhaustion clung to your bones, and all you wanted was to shut your eyes and escape reality—if only for a little while.

You kicked off your shoes, exhaling as you rubbed your temples. The apartment was quiet, exactly as you’d left it. Nothing seemed out of place.

Until you noticed your bedroom door.

It was slightly open.

Your stomach clenched. You were sure you had closed it before leaving.

Shaking off the unease creeping up your spine, you pushed the door open—

And screamed.

"Kyaaaa!!!"

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Before you could blink, Bucky was at your side, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.

Then he saw it.

Your room was a disaster.

Pillows lay shredded across the floor, their stuffing torn apart as if slashed by a knife. Your blankets were in a heap, the furniture overturned. But the most terrifying sight was the red—splattered across the walls, the bed, the floor.

It looked like blood.

But the worst part?

A knife. Stabbed straight through a framed photo of you.

A chill spread through your veins. You clutched Bucky’s arm, your fingers digging into his sleeve.

He didn’t flinch.

Bucky stepped forward, calm and deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning the wreckage. Crouching down, he touched the red stain smeared across your dresser. He rubbed it between his fingers, then smirked.

"It’s ink."

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. "Who… who did this?"

Bucky straightened, glancing at the knife in your photo before turning to you.

"I had a feeling something was missing from this puzzle," he murmured while looking at you. Then his smirk deepened, his gaze dark with intrigue. "But now? I think I just found the most important piece."

Your stomach twisted. "Me?"

He nodded slowly, watching you with amusement.

"Congratulations, sweetheart. You’re officially the main event."

Your heart pounded, fear clawing at your throat. But Bucky?

Bucky looked entertained.

Like he was just getting started.

Seeing him get excited over this made you wonder, Mrs. Walls, what kind of neighbor did you have?

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

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[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔈𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: A request that I received from a friend of mine. “Abby's first time going to a sleepover and Mike is stressed, you try to distract him which inturn evolves into him basically using you to forget about his anxiety.”

Tags: Part 12 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone as usual. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Mike is a perfect older brother. Sometimes too much. Lots of teasing and intimacy. Smut. Fluffy smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex. Riding.

Words count: 3000

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

The clock on the wall ticked past 11 P.M., but Mike's restlessness filled the room like a storm cloud. He sat slouched on the couch, one leg bouncing furiously while his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze flicked back and forth between the phone on the wall and the door, almost willing it to vibrate or swing open. Abby was out for her first sleepover and the unknowns of her new friends, their parents, their house, were eating him alive.

You knew how he got when his nerves took over, which was exactly why you were in his lap, determined to pull him out of his spiral of worries.

"You're gonna give yourself a heart attack," you muttered, your lips brushing against the stubble of his jaw as you peppered him with kisses, each one loud and insistent. His skin was warm under your touch, his body taut like a coiled spring.

He let out a low groan, somewhere between irritation and something far more carnal.

"It's not funny," he said gruffly, though his hands had drifted to your thighs, gripping them through the fabric of your pants as if grounding himself. "You don't get it. She—“

"She's fine," you interrupted, your voice soft but firm. You nipped at his jawline, smiling when he flinched and tightened his grip on you. "She's probably drawing some creepy animatronic with her new besties right now, not plotting her escape to Vegas."

"That's not—"

"When's the last time we had the house to ourselves?" you cut him off again, your lips finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Your tone turned teasing as you let your hips roll ever so slightly against his lap, feeling the hardness that was starting to press against you despite his sour mood. "I mean, no Abby, no interruptions…"

Mike's hands flexed on your thighs, his jaw clenching tight enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his stubble. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, his voice rough, though the way his hands slid higher up your legs betrayed his growing interest.

"And you're stressed," you countered, leaning back to meet his eyes. "Seriously, Mike, she's fine. You need to chill."

His brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to argue, but you silenced him with a kiss all teeth and tongue, a deliberate effort to pull him out of his head and into the moment. He groaned against your mouth, his frustration tangling with desire as his hands found your hips, holding you in place even as you continued to grind against him.

"You're the worst," he grumbled, though his voice was muffled against your lips.

"I know," you whispered back, your breath hot against his skin as you tugged at the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands beneath the fabric to trace the lean muscles of his stomach.

He didn't stop you. Instead, he pulled you closer, his hands slipping under the waistband of your pants to grab your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

You ground down harder, feeling the full extent of his arousal pressing against you.

Mike cursed under his breath, his resolve cracking as he shifted beneath you, his hands deftly tugging your pants down your hips. The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but his touch was warm, almost searing, as his fingers slid between your legs.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice low and rough as he dipped his head to kiss along your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You're so—"

"Yeah," you cut him off, your voice breathy as you fumbled with his belt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked to free him.

The moment his cock was in your hand, heavy and hot and already leaking, he let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the couch as his hips jerked involuntarily.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. "You're so fucking eager."

"Can you blame me?" you teased, your voice laced with heat as you leaned in to kiss him again, swallowing the guttural sounds he made as your hand worked him with a steady rhythm.

The first press of his finger was slow, the stretch intoxicating. His fingers moving faster, lips capturing yours again as he prepped you thoroughly, slicking you up and preparing you for what’s next to come.

When you were finally ready, your skin slick with sweat and your body trembling with anticipation, he guided you into position, his cock pressing against your entrance as you braced yourself against his shoulders.

"Take your time," he murmured, his voice softer now, though there was a tension in his tone that betrayed how badly he wanted you.

You nodded, biting your lip as you began to sink down onto him, the stretch both overwhelming and addictive. He groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he watched you.

His head tipped back against the couch as you slowly sank down onto him, and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe. The heat, the tightness, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of you wrapping around him had him teetering on the edge already, his fingers biting into your hips as he forced himself to stay still, to let you adjust.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he closed his eyes, every nerve in his body alight. He felt you trembling against him, the way your body pulsed and clenched around him, like it was trying to pull him even deeper. His hands smoothed over your thighs, gripping tightly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a soothing rhythm to keep himself grounded.

But then his eyes opened, and when he looked at you and saw the flushed heat on your face, the way your lips were parted as you panted, the slight furrow in your brow as you worked to take all of him with that unfiltered want mixed with the faintest hint of pain as you adjusted was enough to drive him out of his mind.

He tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against yours. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, a quiet rasp that didn't match the burning desire coiling low in his belly.

You nodded, biting your lip as you wiggled slightly, sending a shudder through both of you. "Just…big," you muttered, your voice shaky, your breath warm against his face.

He chuckled softly, though the sound came out more like a groan. "Take your time." He said, his tone laced with something teasing, though his chest tightened at how fragile you sounded.

His gaze flicked past you for a moment, catching on a piece of paper half-finished made by Abby, the bright colors smudged slightly where she'd pressed the crayons too hard. The sight sparked a sudden, stupid thought, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out.

"Do you think her friend's mom has enough papers for her?"

You froze, your forehead still pressed to his as you blinked at him, your expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

"Mike," you said, your tone incredulous but low, strained from the stretch of him inside you. "Are you serious—" You trailed off, biting back a laugh as you rested your head against his cheek, his stubble scratching against your skin. "Can we maybe not talk about your little sister while I’ve got your dick in my ass?"

It took a second for your words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened, and he groaned, his head falling to your shoulder. "Shit. Sorry. Fuck, I—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, snickering softly as you nuzzled into him. "Just…focus, yeah?"

"Yeah. Focus," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He tilted his head, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I'm an idiot."

You were about to say something but he cut you off with a sudden upward thrust, his cock burying itself completely inside you. You gasped sharply, your words dissolving into a hiss as you clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice hit your ears like a low hum, rough and frayed at the edges, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he spoke, the huskiness of his tone vibrating straight through you.

It wasn't the overconfident dominance of someone trying to prove a point. His words carried the weight of his exhaustion, the kind of bone-deep weariness that clung to him. That rasp in his voice, that almost lazy confidence was enough to leave you breathless.

You swallowed hard, unable to stop yourself from clenching tightly around him in response, which drew a low, throaty groan from him that only made the moment more intense.

You started to move then, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands dropped back to your waist, guiding your movements, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust upward to meet you.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he watched you. His hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.

Mike's grip on your hips was almost punishing, his fingers digging into your skin as you rode him, the couch creaking beneath the weight of your movements. His head was tipped back, lips parted, breaths ragged as his dark eyes stayed fixed on you.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained as if speaking took all the energy he could spare.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut and flushed, his length throbbing inside of you as you clenched tightly around him.

His hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you down harder onto him as his hips snapped upward to meet yours, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room. You could feel how close he was, the way his rhythm was faltering, his movements growing more frantic as he chased his release alongside you.

And then the phone rang.

The sharp, jarring sound cut through the haze of pleasure like a slap to the face, breaking the intimate barrier you'd both built so painstakingly. Mike froze beneath you, his gaze snapping toward the phone on the wall.

You let out a frustrated whine, your hips still grinding against him in a desperate attempt to regain his attention.

He didn't respond, the sound of the ringing filled the room, relentless and intrusive and you felt his body tense beneath you, his grip on your hips loosening slightly.

"Mike," your voice insistent as you leaned forward, your hands framing his face. You forced him to look at you, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Stay with me."

The plea seemed to snap him out of his daze, eyes refocusing on you as his hands tightened on your hips again. "Shit—sorry," he muttered, his voice low and rough, but before he could fully immerse himself back in you, the ringing stopped.

For a moment, there was silence, then, the voice of Abby's friend's mother crackled through the answering machine, her tone calm and measured as she left a message.

You couldn't make out her words—didn't want to, frankly—but Mike stilled again, his gaze flicking toward the machine as his jaw tightened. He made a muffled sound against your lips, a low groan that was equal parts annoyance and worry, and you could feel him pulling away mentally even as his body remained pressed against yours.

Your hands clutched his shoulders as you moved against him again, desperate to keep him with you. The friction was almost too much, the intensity of your own need clawing at you, and when he groaned again, this time louder, deeper, you thought you'd won.

But then he was pulling back, his movements abrupt and clumsy as he shifted you off him. "I'll be right back," he muttered, his voice laced with apology as he grunted softly, pulling out of you.

The sudden emptiness was unpleasant, your body protesting the loss as you stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "Are you serious?" you managed to whisper, your voice raw and incredulous.

He winced, his hand braced against the couch as he stood, his other hand adjusting himself awkwardly. "I just need to make sure everything's okay," he said, his tone almost pleading as he glanced toward the phone.

You shifted on the couch, wincing at the dull ache in your lower half from how deep Mike had been before the damn phone decided to ruin everything. With a sigh, you brought your knees up to your chest, your arms crossing defensively over them as you watched him pace to the phone on the wall.

His posture was stiff. Partially from the erection he was still sporting and partly from the mix of irritation and worry etched into his expression. You caught the faint tremor in his voice as he answered the call. "Yeah? This is Mike."

You leaned back against the couch with a huff, your head falling against the cushions as you glared up at the ceiling.

The conversation blurred into a series of muffled words as you tuned him out, your frustration and wounded pride making it hard to care.

When he finally hung up and turned back to you, his expression softened. His lips curved into a small, sheepish smile as he walked back over to the couch. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and tentative. "Abby's fine. She passed out with a crayon still in her hand together with her friend."

You hummed in acknowledgment, refusing to meet his gaze. Your arms remained crossed over your chest, your eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling.

"I think that woman caught up on what I was doing." He groaned in defeat as his voice dropped into that awkward, self-conscious tone you loved while he ran a hand through his hair.

You finally turned your head to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow.

"I sounded like I'd just run a marathon," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could erase the memory. "She was definitely trying not to snicker." He trailed off, his eyes flicking to you briefly before looking away again.

You kept your gaze stubbornly fixed on the ceiling, your arms still crossed as Mike kissed your shoulder, the stubble of his jaw scraping softly against your skin while one of his hands rested on your knees. "Hey," he murmured, tilting his head to catch your gaze. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad? No," you replied, your tone clipped as you shifted your legs to make it harder for him to hold them. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to sleep on the bed tonight. Alone."

He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly in disbelief before he let out a soft laugh. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that."

"Like what?" you shot back, your voice unintentionally sharp as you finally met his gaze. "Like someone who was left high and dry because you had to go full 'big brother mode' right in the middle of—“

"Okay, okay," he cut in, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he chuckled, the sound warm and rough. "I get it. I suck."

"You said it," you muttered, your arms tightening around your chest.

Mike let out an exaggerated groan, leaning forward to press his forehead against your knees. "You're killing me here," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk with this?" He gestured vaguely at his still prominent erection.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite your best efforts. "I noticed," you quipped. "Pretty hard to miss when you're waddling around like a penguin."

He laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded, and the tension in the room eased slightly. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin as he looked up at you with those dark, tired eyes that always made your heart skip a beat. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured.

You pretended to consider it, tilting your head as if weighing your options. "I don't know," you said, your tone light but teasing. "I'm pretty comfortable here, actually. Might just call it a night."

Mike's lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. "Come on," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't do me like this. I'll be good. Promise."

You hummed, your arms still crossed as you feigned indifference, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," you muttered, your voice trembling slightly as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

"I plan to," he replied, his voice thick with promise as he leaned in to kiss you, slow and deep.

Mike's thumb brushed over your thigh as his other hand wrapped around your still throbbing erection, his fingers stroking the length with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. His hand was warm, his grip firm as he tugged, squeezing you just enough to make you groan softly despite your earlier resolve to play stubborn.

Your resolve cracked under the weight of his touch and you finally uncrossed your arms, threading your fingers through his hair as you pulled him closer. "You're lucky you're cute," you muttered against his lips, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as he pressed you back against the couch, his hands gripping your waist as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss while slowly easing you down onto the couch. His fingers curled around your thigh, pulling your leg up and wrapping it around his waist as he settled between your legs. The weight of him was grounding, his toned stomach pressing against your aching length, the happy trail there tickling you while his own erection nudged insistently at your entrance.

His hand drifted down, positioning himself with careful precision, and the heat of him pressing against you made your breath catch.

"Mike—" you started, your voice breaking on a gasp as he pushed forward, his cock breaching you with a slow, deliberate stretch that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He groaned low in his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he slid deeper.

Your head fell back against the couch, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow breaths, your body trembling beneath him. "Move," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

Mike didn't need to be told twice. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he began to move, his hips rolling with a steady, unrelenting rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. His cock filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and the friction with each thrust had you gasping against his mouth.

"Fuck—" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his with every desperate breath.

He groaned in response, his movements growing more frantic as he buried himself deeper, each thrust harder and more insistent than the last.

The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the relentless rhythm of his hips was too much, and yet not enough. You clung to him, your nails scraping down his back as you arched into him, your own arousal trapped between your bodies and smearing against his stomach with every thrust.

Mike's hand slipped between you, his fingers wrapping around your cock once more as he stroked you in time with his movements. The combination was devastating, the pleasure building so intensely it left you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as you teetered on the edge.

"Close," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around him, pulling him even deeper.

"Me too," he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace faltered, his hips stuttering as he chased his release.

Your body tensed, your release spilling between you as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.

Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him and the look of pure ecstasy on your face drove him to his peak. He thrust into you one last time, his body going rigid as he came, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he filled you completely.

Mike collapsed against you, his weight comforting as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, his lips warm and soft against your flushed skin.

"Still mad at me?" he murmured, his voice teasing but tired, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair as you shook your head. "Not anymore," you admitted, your voice warm with affection.

"Good," he muttered, his lips curling into a small smile against your neck. "Because I don't think I could survive round three."

You laughed, your chest heaving with the effort, and pulled him closer, your bodies tangling together as the heat between you slowly gave way to a comfortable, drowsy warmth.